


Call me Danny

by love2imagine



Category: White Collar
Genre: Thanks to perfect_light for a few ideas from Ad Infinitum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-15 13:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2230275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love2imagine/pseuds/love2imagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter finally figures out how to control his CI. Takes place before Home Invasion, after Bad Judgement. Then it diverges from canon completely. Oh and I kept Diana, not Lauren, for the not very good reason that I love Diana.</p><p>White Collar Characters and milieu belong to Jeff Eastin, not me. Story mine, mistakes mine.</p><p>Don't read if serious depression and its outcomes in any form are a trigger.     ):..(<br/>Note to my usual readers...Chapter 1 not my typical thing.  Be warned.<br/>Can stop at dark and dismal. Enjoy.</p><p>Lightens up a lot later, if you choose to read on.  :-D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Call me Danny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds a way to control his CI.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It had been a harrowing time for Agent Peter Burke. He knew how to skate, was rather good at it, but this was like skating on thin ice on one skate with the boot laces untied! Or, since he had never tried that, how he would imagine that to feel!

 

It wasn’t that long since he had given in and taken on Neal Caffrey under his supervision, a ward of the FBI. And it had been fun, and successful, they had closed cases, and he really enjoyed working with the guy. He was brilliant, generous, brave and insightful and everything Peter could have wanted in a CI, a friend, a partner.

 

And he had no idea of right and wrong…or legal and illegal. Or comforting and maddening. Or reasonable and completely _insane!_

 

“You can’t expect him to know those things, Honey,” El said to him, one evening. “He’s new to all this. He’s playing a different game! Give him time. He’s a really sweet man!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, he is! But in this game if he gets benched, he’ll be sent back to prison, El, and I looked into what happens to snitches in prison. I should have trusted my instincts and left him inside!”

 

“But you wanted the Dutchman.”

 

“Yeah, and we got him. And yes, we wouldn’t have if Neal hadn’t skirted the law – as he has over and over since – and gone outside his range and broken our contract. And even there – he thought it was just a case of, ‘well, hey, it worked! What’s everyone getting uptight about?’ – But I was soothing the Marshalls for two hours after he’d gone home!”

 

“And…?”

 

“And he’s done the same thing…I’m pretty sure there’s a Neal Caffrey forgery hanging in the Channing Museum, right now, posing as a Haustenberg…”

 

“Yes, but so what – the curator authenticated it, didn’t he? Both you and Neal are off the hook!”

 

“El, now you sound like him! If it’s wrong, it’s wrong! I don’t know how he pulled it off...he didn’t have time, and _why_ – and could it have been _that good?”_

 

“Obviously, it was, Hon. Unless it’s the original and you’re worrying for nothing.”

 

“Then there was the Healing Bible thing – he gave it to someone, probably that Dante guy, and we lost custody of it, if provenance had been an issue we’d have been in it and deep – and he disobeys all of our orders – even Hughes! And Hughes doesn’t like this kid, or our arrangement at all!

............“Can you imagine! Can you imagine _anyone_ just ignoring Hughes? Someone who could get chucked back in prison and die?”

 

“Perhaps he doesn’t realise it.”

 

“He’s too smart not to realise it. He just won’t play by the rules! He’s impossible.”

 

“But he closes cases.”

 

“Yes. Which is the only – THE only reason we have all avoided throwing him back.”

 

“Do you trust him?”

 

“That’s the thing…no. Yes. Yes, he is actually helping, a lot, and I think he likes me – and you, by the way! But I can’t trust what he’ll do!”

 

“Hon, he admires you! He’s always watching you, you know, like a kid with a crush?”

 

“That doesn’t say anything, El! _I’m_ always watching _him_ , and it’s not that I like and admire…well, okay, I admire him, but that’s not what I’m watching him for! I’m always trying to stay one step ahead of him, trying to stop him doing something so bad I can’t save him!”

 

“And can you?”

 

“Stay ahead of him? That’s the thing. I’m bound by all the rules. He isn’t. He should be, mind you, but he isn’t.

“And El, he’s so smart. He’s so reckless and fearless! And young! I was never that young! I don’t think I will be able to keep up! One day I’m going to come running and find him at the bottom of a ravine, or shot by some wacko or knocked down by a car – because he thinks he’s invincible and he thinks I’m always going to be there just on time!”

 

“You’re not too old!”

 

“He sometimes makes me feel a hundred years old! And other times I feel forty – but those times he seems about five!”

 

“Have you just tried talking to him?”

 

“Yes! I’ve demanded and ordered and threatened…”

 

“I mean just talking?” El’s gorgeous eyes twinkled and she smiled her upside-down smile.

 

“That’s when I get to demanding and threatening, because he can’t understand. Or pretends he can’t.”

 

“You’re like Mrs Hodgin’s English father – I mean, he’s just out from England - when he meets someone who can’t speak English very well, he speaks loudly – or yells!”

 

“Yes, well, that’s how I feel! Neal Caffrey and I do not speak the same language. He speaks Con very well. I speak FBI.”

 

“You have to find some way of getting through to him, Hon. You can, you know. You’re both very smart – you manage to talk to those Harvard grads, and they’re not nearly as smart!”

 

“Um, no – I sometimes yell at them, too. For different reasons.”

 

“You’re really worried about him?”

 

“Yes, I’m worried about him. My choices put him in this situation. It was my ambition, greed, frustration over the Dutchman. It was selfish and I have regretted it most days since getting him out.”

 

“I see. And you like him.”

 

“Of course I like him! Even Hughes is warming up a little...perhaps because he makes our division look so good! But he’s a conman, El. That’s what they do – make marks like them. Can’t forget that.”

 

“Risk their lives to make their marks like them?”

 

“If the score is big enough, yeah.”

 

“And the score is big enough for Caffrey – staying out of prison to find Kate.”

 

“Exactly. I was mad to agree to this.”

 

“I’m sorry, Hon. But you’ll find a way.”

 

“He’s going to get killed on the job, or he’ll run to find Kate and either way my name will be Mud.”

 

El looked at him in horror, and he scowled a little. “No, no, that’s not the only reason I don’t want the fool kid killed! Of course not!”

 

Her brow cleared. “Good! You had me worried there!”

 

“Trouble is, he _is_ just like a kid, and sometimes I feel if I could just spank him when he steps over the line, we’d be good. But my only recourse is to cover for him, yell at him and threaten, or throw him in prison, and neither of us would benefit from the latter, I’d lose my best CI ever, lose those good numbers, and he’d get killed, pretty sure. He completely ignores the yelling and the lectures…So I cover. Which is also not good for either of us.

..........“And since I did it once, he knows quite well I’ll do it again. He’s likely to get _more_ outrageous, not less! He got my number so soon…guess that’s what makes him so good at conning. I’m straightforward, El – he’s as twisty as a snake, and as dangerous. He could make my career or ruin it. Perhaps both.”

 

“You think he’s been playing you, all along, it’s all about Kate?”

 

“You said it yourself: I’d do it for you!”

 

“Come to bed. Leave Caffrey and his twisty mind down here on your desk, come upstairs and make your wife happy.”

 

“That,” Agent Peter Burke said with much more confidence, “I can do.”

 

 

 

Then there was the Bad Judge. Peter knew how dangerous even spurious accusations can be, and Fowler was looking to get him – get everyone, it seemed. He knew that somehow the ‘evidence’ against him on the tape had been erased and he knew that Neal and probably Mozzie were involved. He didn’t know how they’d done it, but he felt in his gut that they had. He was relieved, but his feelings were ambivalent.

_It’s okay this time – I’m innocent! But what if I wasn’t? Would they have broken the law to make it seem like I was?_

 

The answer to that was obvious.

 

_This time it was one set of crooks against another, and yeah, one side looks as though it’s on the side of the law…but they can’t keep thinking it’ll be okay if they do this for what **they** consider is right! I can’t let them!_

 

It was three o’clock in the morning that Peter woke. He knew what he could do. He felt a rush of jubilation. Neal was being torn between himself, Peter, and the side of right and good, and that little imp Mozzie and the side of the demons!

 

He thought a bit. Mozzie had never been charged with a crime, he was smart – smarter than Neal, but only because he had never given his heart to someone. Neal was still trying to find Kate, and that was going to get him landed back in jail. But – Peter could fix everything for Neal!

 

_He won’t like it, he’ll be furious, if Neal gets furious, never seen him. But it’s really for his best future. I can’t risk the alternative!_

Peter didn’t speak to El about it at breakfast. She was concerned about some problems going on at work, and was just happy that the problem with the judge had gone away. She didn’t understand that what Neal had to have done was wrong, and illegal and dangerous for him. Dangerous for Peter, too, if anyone ever found out! She wouldn’t like _that!_

 

Peter picked up Neal, who was still ridiculously cheerful after thwarting Fowler’s plans and bringing down an evil judge and keeping that cute little girl and her family in their home!

 

_He didn’t understand – he wouldn’t understand and he will continue to refuse to understand as long as Mozzie’s whispering lies in his ear._

So that day after work, Peter offered to take Neal home. Neal looked so pleased, like they were suddenly best friends.

 

While driving, he said, “You have been a tremendous help over the last few months, Neal.”

 

“Have I?” Neal’s smile lit up the dark.

 

“Yeah. I value your input and your insight a great deal.”

 

“Thank you, Peter. That means a lot to me.”

 

“But you don’t realise how dangerous some of your actions are…to both of us. You could land back in prison, I could even join you if people thought I was encouraging you to skirt the law.”

 

“But you never have, Peter.”

 

“No, but I’ve turned a blind eye. Like this judge thing.”

 

“She was a crook! She hurt people! She and Fowler would have destroyed you! She was taking away people’s _homes_. Do you know what that feels like?”

 

“That’s true. But breaking the law isn’t the way to go about things.”

 

Neal huffed, disappointed. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter watched Neal get a grip on his emotions and decide to be reasonable.

 

_Good!_

“So if we hadn’t got the tape and destroyed the information on it” – _There, he admitted it outright! -_ “what would your legal options have been?”

 

Peter drove in silence. Typical, that Neal would turn around very calmly and put a choke-hold on him! “There’d have been a way. I would have explained how it happened, that I was trying to trap her in the act of bribing me.”

 

“So your word against hers. And she as an OPR agent in her pocket – or visa versa. Mmm…how’d you think that’d work out for you?”

 

“I was right! It would have worked out!”

 

“I don’t think you and I live in the same world, Peter.”

 

“We don’t, and that’s the trouble.”

 

“You do know there are innocent people in jail, in prison, in unconsecrated, unmarked graves beyond the execution chambers, don’t you? Not all the bad guys go to prison, not all the good guys get exonerated.”

 

“No, no – but the system works well the vast majority of the time.”

 

“Mmm.” Neal’s tone was a study in disbelief.

 

“It got you!”

 

Peter couldn’t believe he’d said that, and really wanted to take it back. Instead he doggedly went on, “You were found guilty on good evidence. And if you’re going to believe every inmate that says they’re innocent, you’re stupider than I thought you to be!”

 

“And if you think every policeman who says someone’s guilty is telling the truth, you’re _very_ stupid!” Neal snapped. “Half the time they’re looking for someone to take the blame and get the public off their backs! There’s a lot of sloppy police work and downright falsification of evidence! You want some examples – what about - ”

 

Peter interrupted him. He was sure that Neal could name such cases till sunrise and never repeat himself! He and Mozzie probably practised reciting them! “I don’t want to get into a fight! I’m proud of you and your work. I just don’t want you to risk getting into trouble and I think I’ve found a way of doing that!”

 

Neal sat back. “Oh,” he said, eventually.

 

They pulled up on the opposite side of the street to the beautiful marble mansion that always made Peter’s blood-pressure rise a few points – or more! “I’d like to talk to you, but I want to talk in private.”

 

“You should have taken me to your place,” Neal said.

 

“Yeah – perhaps. Just could you get rid of anyone, please?”

 

Neal gave him an unreadable Look, got out of the car and hurried across the road. Peter waited and no-one came out, so he made his way across, suddenly aware that his heart was picking up the pace a little. Rubbish! This was exactly the right thing to do and if Neal didn’t like it, well, tough. He’d get used to it and come to see the delight in doing good and doing it the right way!

 

He walked up the stairs and was a little more out-of-breath than he liked by the time he reached the top of them, which made him annoyed. He was sure Neal ran up and down them regularly, just for fun! Stupid kid!

 

The door was open. Neal was in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, and had changed into some jeans, feet bare. He stood, leaning his back on the table, and watched Peter gravely with those intense eyes.

 

_He’s just doing it to make me feel awkward, little pest!_

“So what’s this great plan?”

 

Peter walked in, but didn’t sit. “It is a great plan! Look, I get that Mozzie is your friend. You’ve known him, he’s been a partner. But you need to cut him loose, or this thing between us is not going to work.”

 

Neal’s expression was one of disbelief. “I’m not going to turn on Mozzie!”

 

Peter paced.

 

“I’m not saying you have to do that. But while you and I are working together…I don’t want you to see him. Or any other criminal contacts.”

 

“Listen, Peter, I can’t do that. Be reasonable. Would you turn on Jones, or Diana? I don’t know any of your _friends_ …”

 

“No, but they aren’t criminals.”

 

“Actually, Mr. Lawman, neither is Mozzie. You cannot tell me not to see him, he’s not a known felon, he’s just a slightly eccentric individual who lives on very little. I know the law.

         “And - after what he has just done for you, Peter! How can you _do_ that! How can you even _think_ of asking this of me!”

 

“It’s for your own good!”

 

“Hmm…let me think...no.”

 

“You don’t have a choice.”

 

“Oh, so it’s ‘give up your friend or end up in prison’? Isn’t that getting a little old?”

 

“I don’t want you to end up in prison! That’s what this is all about! You know how dangerous it would be for you!”

 

“Yeah, I had considered that…”

 

“You considered all that before you offered me this deal so you could look for Kate.”

 

Neal didn’t admit, didn’t deny, just gazed out over the city lights.

 

“You honestly did this knowing it could get you killed – working with the Bureau, or back behind bars?”

 

Again, Neal said nothing, and his silence said it all. Peter thought about El, her confidence as she told him he’d run for _her_ , and flinched.

 

“You are going to give up contact with Mozzie – and any other criminals I don’t know about. No contact! Do you understand me, Neal?”

 

“I’ve already told you, Mozzie - ”

 

“How long do you think he’d hang around, and how long do you think it would take for me to find _something_ on him, if I set all the Bureau’s resources to do so?”

 

Neal turned and stared at him, and in the dimming light Peter perhaps imagined that he paled. When he spoke, he sounded as though he was out of breath.

 

“You wouldn’t do that to him – to me…”

 

“In a minute. To keep you safe, in a second! Those are the rules from now on. You say good-bye and he leaves.”

 

“You can’t mean that!”

 

“You want to test me on this, Neal? I am not playing around. I’ll give you three days. It’s that or prison, and you don’t want that, and I don’t want that. You’ll lose Mozzie anyway.”

 

Peter turned and went to the door, not wanting to see that hurt and accusation on Neal’s face another second. As he opened it, Neal demanded, “And El agreed to this?”

 

Peter didn’t answer and he didn’t look back. Neal was adept at manipulating people’s emotions – that’s what he did for a living! He wanted Peter to doubt, wanted him to feel guilty about doing this, and this was the right thing, even if the kid was too young and confused to understand it. He would come to thank Peter. It might take some time, but he would.

 

Peter drove home. El was thrilled that he was early for once, that for once they could sit down and enjoy dinner together, but found him distracted.

 

“What’s wrong, Hon?’ she eventually asked, when he helped himself to broccoli, which she normally had to…encourage him to eat.

 

“Just – just a case, something I’m working on.”

 

“Neal can’t help?”

 

“I’m hoping he can.”

 

He knew El was looking at him every now and then.

 

_I should just tell her._

 

But he knew El had asked Neal to do anything to save him from the judge and Fowler. She might very well _not_ understand, especially his timing. But the longer he left it, the worse it was going to get.

 

Three days came and went. Neal came into the office and read and sat mum during meetings. Peter left him alone. He was sympathetic. This couldn’t be easy on the kid. He wasn’t going to push. But on the evening of the third day, on the way down in the elevator, he asked, “Did you see him?”

 

“If you mean my friend Mozzie, yes, I saw him, and he’s not going to be around any longer.”

 

“Thank you. I knew you’d do the right thing.” Peter felt his heart lift! _That was easier than I expected._

“That’s a very opinionated remark and I shall not deign to answer it.”

 

“Come on – I want the best for you! I’ll drive you home and - ”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

“What - ?”

 

Neal always liked to ride to his place together. It was easier, of course, and he always loved the company.

 

“I said, no, thank you. I have the fare, I’m taking public transport. It’s the right thing to do. Green.” Neal walked away rapidly, leaving Peter in the elevator.

 

_He’s just mad. Just like a kid! I’ve set some boundaries and he doesn’t like it! Just like me with my curfew when I was fifteen! He’ll get over it._

 

 

Peter was working at his desk, looking over some case files, hoping to find something that would make Neal’s eyes light up, give them both that tingly feeling as they tracked down the bad guy using all their combined abilities, and put him away. Or her!

 

Suddenly Jones was at his door. “Yes?” Peter asked.

 

“Well, Peter – what did you say to Caffrey?”

 

“About - ?”

 

“Well, I know you teased him about the hat, and his Dino clothing, but this is ridiculous!”

 

Peter looked about. “Where is he?”

 

“Getting coffee, probably.”

 

“He never drinks this coffee in the morning – or anytime he can help!” Peter got up and went downstairs. Neal was, indeed, stirring a mug of coffee with a stir-stick and obvious distaste. Peter did a double-take.

 

“What are you wearing?”

 

“Not sure.” Neal said, and pushed past him.

 

Whatever it was, it was no Devore. He was wearing an orange- striped shirt under a dark blue suit jacket and dress pants from some other suit. The shirt was open at the neck.

 

“You’re supposed to wear a tie!” Peter exclaimed, not sure where to start.

 

“You give me a tie, I’ll be wearing a tie.”

 

“You think this is clever, this ridiculous childish display of defiance?”

 

“I think this is what you wanted from the beginning. I went to the thrift shop, like you told me…and this is what they had in my size. Well – sort of.”

 

“But - ”

 

“I have another shirt, but it’s a kind of mustard yellow, with some stains, so I chose this one. Ease the office in gently. They’ve seen your lucky tie, they’ll cope with the shirt.”

 

Peter wasn’t at all sure what to say. There was no law Neal had to look good. Neal sat down and read files and didn’t once look in Peter’s direction the whole day.

_He’s sulking! I don’t believe it! He thinks if he looks like that I’m going to give in about Moz…well, he’s just going to have to learn that when I say something, I mean it._

Another day went by and Peter saw Neal leaving with a very ugly tote-bag containing something of irregular size and shape. He hurried down, all instincts on high alert, just as Jones joined them at the elevators.

 

“What’s in the bag, Neal?” Peter asked, trying not to make it sound like an accusation – but it did!

 

Neal hardly glanced at him and opened the bag. In it were a random selection of empty cans and bottles.

 

Jones looked surprised at Peter’s tone. “Neal asked us all if we could keep them, Peter, not throw them in the trash.”

 

“In the same spirit of going green, doing some recycling.”

 

Peter stepped back, feeling weird under Jones’ questioning gaze. “Oh. Okay, then.”

 

He went back to his office, feeling as though he had lost the handle on everything!

 

 

The next day, Neal wore the mustard yellow shirt. He had a tie…brown, with thin red stripes. “You can’t come in dressed like that!” Peter told him, seeing Hughes’s jaundiced eye…worse than the shirt!

 

Neal just shrugged. He hadn’t met Peter’s eyes once.

 

The day after, Peter had to call him to a murder scene and Neal shuddered and turned away. Peter kept seeing him out of the corner of his eye and reacting to this stranger at the crime scene – he wasn’t used to seeing Neal like this. _Ever!_

 

“Where were you, anyway?” he growled when they were alone.

 

“Making sure one of my other friends kept a distance for half a decade.”

 

“Oh, well, good! Thank you! It won’t be so bad, you’ll get used to it.”

 

Neal didn’t answer, just stared out of the window, thinking of Alex and what he had truly given up to try and find Kate…and now, with no help and this tracking anklet, he had close to zero chance of finding her.

 

Peter had won.

 

_Perhaps I should have run with Mozzie. Now I have nothing._

 

“Are you listening?” Peter demanded.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Murder. Saw the body. Not my scene at all.” Peter had won. He had lost.

 

_I have nothing._

 

 

 

Peter walked into the office struggling with bags. Neal glanced up and went back to his work. Part of his mind wondered if Elizabeth had kicked Peter out – perhaps she’d found out about what her husband had done to him? – good thing. Let him know what it felt like to be alone.

 

When Neal saw the hotel pamphlets, he had even more hope – but no, Peter was just upgrading his wiring system.

 

When Peter decided on the lowest-cost room, Neal grinned a little. Even now, there were some consolations. And Mozzie and Alex and June were safe…and so was Kate. From Peter, anyway. If Peter could find her again, good luck to him.

 

Neal was sitting at his desk and Jones walked up and gave him two soda cans.

 

“Thanks, Jones.”

 

“You okay, Caffrey? Like to have lunch with me?”

 

“Yeah, just working on this list. Not getting anywhere. Nothing fits. Oh – lunch…” Neal glanced at Peter’s office, “…probably shouldn’t, but thanks, Jones.”

 

“Peter isn’t going to mind!”

 

“If you ask him, and he okays it, I’d be very glad to accept.”

 

“What’s with you two?”

 

“Apart from the fact that slavery is alive and well in the FBI? Nothing.”

 

Jones gave him a once-over and walked away. He didn’t normally talk about it, but he’d really wanted to be a profiler at one point, did some courses, read books. Something wasn’t right…no, amend that, something was really wrong with Caffrey, and from what Jones had seen, if he didn’t want to tell, it would take experimental truth serum to make him.

 

Diana came in and collected Jones on the way to the office. “Peter – crypt analyst called. It’s a shift code hidden in an anagram. It gives this list of names.”

 

“Neal should have spotted that!”

 

“Yeah. But _look_ at him…and he keeps scratching.” They all looked down and, his heightened senses picking up their stares, Neal started to look up then checked himself and carried on reading a file. “Perhaps he’s got something…chicken pox or something?” Diana queried. “Is he running a fever?”

 

They all walked down the stairs and Peter went to Neal. “You okay?”

 

“If my master says I am.”

 

“Neal - ”

 

Thinking that direct action might be more use than asking, Peter walked round and put his hand on Neal’s forehead. He wasn’t sure if he’d know if there was any fever – all women seemed to know instinctively, but Neal wasn’t flushed. If anything, he was a little pale. Neal twisted away and said, “Isn’t there something in the rules about sexual abuse?”

 

Peter drew back his hand as though Neal was sending off high-voltage sparks! “It’s not sexual! – I wondered if you were okay.”

 

“ ** _I_** don’t know what you’re into. Keep your hands to yourself, Agent Burke, or I’ll report you.”

 

Neal was speaking quietly, but both Diana and Jones picked up the venom if not the words, and glanced over. Peter left.

 

“Nothing wrong with him that wouldn’t be fixed by an attitude adjustment,” Peter said to them as he walked past.

 

They narrowed down the murdering thief Pierce’s next target. They still had no idea what she was looking for. “You’re coming with me,” Peter said to Neal. “We need your expertise.”

 

“Nice to be needed.”

 

Dan Picah, a trust fund heir, lived in a mansion. Not as classy as June’s, to be sure, but it had an elevator.

 

He was very friendly! “Hey, FBI guys. How’s it going?”

 

Peter answered, “I'm Agent Peter Burke, this is Neal Caffrey.” Dan looked Neal up and down and asked, worriedly, “He undercover?”

 

“You could say that. He’s a consultant.”

 

Dan backed off, not liking the look of Caffrey at all. Not surprising, the new shirt was purple with bleach spots on the collar and the tie was a faded paisley in browns and yellows. Peter wasn’t sure what Neal was up to, but he was really beginning to steam. This kid would have fallen all over Neal the suave and debonair. This Neal was putting him off completely.

 

Neal, responsive to the atmosphere, moved as far as courtesy would allow and stood like one of Dan’s impressive statues…but not so impressive. Dan took them all over the house, quite chatty, but becoming increasingly less so.

 

He kept glancing at Neal, confused by the clothes and even more so by the vibes between the two.

 

It was a long process…Dan was subdued and Neal silent, but eventually Jones and Diana found the jade elephants that Pierce was wanting to steal, and looked into the ownership of the rest… she only had three of them.

 

“Send in Caffrey. He can charm birds off trees,” Hughes said to Peter. “Get him nicely dressed up – and keep him that way – and get him to con this dangerous thief. We haven’t got a lot of time – the Japanese are getting impatient and I don’t want to be in the middle of an international incident. Get it fixed, Peter.” He shut the door without waiting for a reply.

 

Peter sighed. He went over to Neal. “Neal, we need you to go in under cover, pretending to be Dan.”

“No.”

“What? That’s what we – that’s what we have you for!”

“If you were a beautiful, high-end thief, d’you go out with me?”

Peter looked at the top of his head. “You’ll have to put on your rat-pack clothes, Dino.”

“Chairman of the Board, sad to say - the rats are all dead and gone.”

“What?”

Neal said nothing, still hadn’t looked up.

“Do you _want_ to go back to prison?”

Neal lifted his face enough to gaze off across the room. “Not sure, now.”

“Get up – we’re going to June’s.”

“I’m not going with you.”

“Yes, you are.”

 

They drove in angry silence all the way to Riverside Drive. Peter parked the car with a jerk not all that uncharacteristic of his general driving style, and got out. He walked three strides and realised he was not being followed by an obedient CI.

He turned and gestured, “Come on, Neal!”

“Uh-uh. Not going near the place!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Not going.”

Peter really couldn’t imagine dragging Neal kicking and screaming across the street, in full sight of all the rich and famous. He was slender, but wiry and surprisingly strong.

“I’ll get some of your clothes myself. We need this done tonight! Just don’t complain about my choices.”

Neal shrugged.

Peter got to the front door, always a little intimidated, and rang the bell. June was probably home. He could hear the dog barking.

The maid opened the door looking severe and she asked him to wait for Mrs Ellington. She did not ask him to sit, and he was in a hurry, anyway…

If the maid looked severe, she had nothing on her mistress! June’s eyes were cold-stony as flint.

“June, sorry to intrude, I’m glad you’re home. I need to pick up some clothes for Neal – you don’t mind, do you?”

“Agent Burke, isn’t it?” June said in her lovely round cultured voice. Before he could answer, she went on, “If you are looking for Neal Caffrey, he no longer resides at this address. And I’m a little preoccupied, my little grand-daughter was bumped off the donor list for no reason. There are a lot of crooks out there, Federal Agent Burke. You should do something about that. I’m being hustled by one of them for money for an organ. But I don’t suppose you could care less about that! I think you should leave.”

“But why didn’t Neal – ? - I don’t understand - ”

“Yes, Neal - you should find his change of address with the Marshalls and your – administration people? I received the rent for his last month today. The next will be going to his new abode.”

Peter knew that his mouth was open, and shut it. “He moved?”

She nodded. “Very suddenly. I assume it had something to do with you, since his friend also came to say good-bye. Nice manners, these boys.

“And Agent Burke, I have already sent a written stipulation, but since you are here in person I will tell you to your face: you are no longer welcome here, neither you nor your wife. I would request that you leave, and do so immediately.”

“B-but…”

“Do you have a warrant, Agent Burke?”

“N-no – I just wanted some of Neal’s clothes…he has a job, he needs to look…”

“If you do not have a warrant, you have no right to take any of my deceased husband’s clothing. Now, is there anything else before you leave?”

Peter found himself walking towards his Taurus feeling as though he’d just been scolded – and hard – by the Queen of England.

He climbed into the car, trying to detect one smidgen of satisfaction on his CI’s face, because if there was, abuse claims or no, he was going to –

-       Neal was sleeping, curled up against the side, peaceful as a child.

_Or perhaps he’s pretending to sleep…how the heck can I tell –_

“Neal!”

“Mmph?” Neal’s head came up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Peter was more suspicious still. It was such a perfect representation of sleep – could it really _be_ sleep?

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d moved?”

“Never lie to you. You didn’t ask.”

“You knew I’d make a fool out of myself, going in there and talking to June!”

“Didn’t know. Might suspect from past performance. Didn’t know for sure.”

“You left. You left all your clothes, everything?”

“Not mine. Can’t steal from Mrs. Ellington. Good lady.”

“But why? You were so – it was so - ”

“Yeah, nice. But you told me, I don’t do the kind of work that get’s me that. You told me I shouldn’t be there, get away from her, all my friends.”

“I told you _Mozzie!”_

Neal shrugged. “Today Mozzie, tomorrow – who knows. I don’t know anyone who would enjoy the prolonged scrutiny of the FBI – do you? You have any skeletons, Agent Burke? Does ...your wife?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I wasn’t…but funny you should think that. It sure feels that way, on the receiving end, doesn’t it?”

“So – now what? You can’t go and speak to Pierce like that!”

“I already told you that. Do you find it works better if you actually listen to your consultants, or do you keep them around to feel superior and snark at when cases don’t go well? There are stores…don’t the FBI have a wardrobe for undercover stuff?”

“At this hour?”

“Not my problem, Agent Burke. I’m just a humble CI.”

“That’ll be the day.”

Peter called in a bunch of favours, and got Neal kitted out. It didn’t fit properly – “He’s an athletic long, Agent Burke! I have nothing that will fit exactly,” the irritated guy from the Stagehand Division - responsible for all sorts of props from uniforms to speedboats – said, pulling at the jacket. “You call me in and give me - ”

“Yeah, yeah – what do I do to make sure we have some things in his size on hand for the future?”

“Go to – Hughes, is it? Requisition forms. Lots of paperwork. Sure he’s worth it?” He turned and looked at Caffrey’s temporarily discarded clothing in disgust.

“Yes, he’s brilliant.”

 

Neal met with Pierce. He seemed to be trying his best, but she wasn’t buying it. She ducked out the back and Jones grabbed her, but she yelled to three large workmen and it took everything Jones had to hold onto her and keep them from attacking him.

“At least we got the elephants in the end,” Peter said. “No thanks to you!”

Neal shrugged. “You try and do your job without your bullet-proof and jacket and gun and badge, huh? I can’t sell Neal Caffrey in this suit.”

“I thought you could sell ice to Eskimos and ashes to the devil.”

Neal shrugged. “Guess you were incorrect.”

Neal made nice with the Japanese, speaking to them in their own language, and they were delighted with him – he was still wearing the FBI-issued clothing, but apparently none of them were aware that he wasn’t the best dressed man about town. Or too polite to say anything. They were always polite, even when they’d been threatening about those stupid ugly elephants!

 

Days passed. Peter went with Diana and sourced some decent suits – two, plus four shirts and two ties and socks and shoes – he forgot about all the accessories, but when he looked at the total, he cringed.

When _he_ looked at the total, Hughes had a fit. “Why can’t he dress in the clothes he’s always dressed in? They were nice. I’m not approving this kind of money for someone who might run, who might be back in prison in days! What are you thinking, Peter?”

“He doesn’t have…access to that clothing any more.”

“Well, why?”

“They were actually on loan from his landlady, and now he’s moved. You should have seen the paperwork…”

“Yes, I saw. Didn’t realise about the clothing. Look, I’ll see what I can do. I’m good with ladies…I’ll go and speak to her – what’s her name?” he rifled in the drawer, “Mrs Ellington, June Ellington? Perhaps I can persuade her to let us have a couple of sets of decent clothing for Caffrey, even on loan?”

Peter had an awful image of Hughes being told off and sent about his business by a determined June – who would certainly tell Hughes that he, Peter, had something to do with Neal’s move! And she had access to money and lawyers…she could bring some sort of law-suit, which was not at all the sort of suit they wanted!

“Please, no, let – I went and spoke to her, and she’s not happy.”

“Why – Caffrey steal the silver? Thought that might happen! I’ll go and fix things! I’m sure you said something to - ”

“Please, Hughes – I tried.”

“Let me talk to Caffrey, then.”

Peter’s spooky gut made definite ‘evacuate now’ signals, and he swallowed his nausea and said, “He didn’t steal anything, honestly. He felt out-of place there. I – I told him he was.”

Hughes stared at Peter with gimlet eyes. “You _what?_ You caused all this?”

“Not intentionally, Sir!”

“That’s why he looks like a homeless person? And why’s he always scratching?”

Peter, suddenly aware that he was scratching his back, stopped, a horrible suspicion overcoming him. That damned awful dog – and –

“Fix this, Burke! I don’t care how! If you don’t, I will!”

 

Peter left and went down the stairs to Neal’s desk. “Walk with me.”

Neal got up, pushing his chair back and not putting it beneath the desk afterwards. He walked two steps behind Peter, they stayed silent in the elevator and Peter led them to the park. He turned and said, “Where are you staying.”

“The motel the FBI wanted me in, Peter. That _you_ wanted me in. That you thought I deserved. Pleased, now?”

“But – but _I’m_ staying there! Well – was - I can go home today.”

“Yes. Thank you for being there. The dog has left me alone since you arrived. He must smell Satchmo.”

“Satchmo! I’ll give Satchmo fleas!”

“Poor Satchmo.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?

“Nothing. Just a general statement of sympathy for a beautiful, sensitive animal.”

Peter took a deep breath. “We can’t have you dressed like that. Please, please go back to June’s. She’ll take you back. She likes you.”

“No.”

“Please, Neal. Hughes is furious with the way you look, you can’t do your job, we can’t afford the outfits to make you look good.”

“But Agent Burke, I’m dressed just the way you told me to dress. The rest was gravy, and the gravy boat tipped over and sank. When you got me out of prison and put me in that motel and told me to go to the thrift store, how did you think I was going to look when I came to work?”

Peter groaned. Neal wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at some children playing, his expression wistful.

“June’s granddaughter’s been bumped from the donor list,” Peter said, suddenly.

Neal almost met his eyes. He looked down and said, “Oh, poor June.”

“If you were there,” Peter suggested, craftily, “you could comfort her. Find out what happened.”

“I could have. I’m not going back. You think I want to give Bugsy fleas? And have Mrs Ellington back on the FBI radar? Hasn’t she got enough trouble? She went through all that with her late husband, long ago. Enough is enough. She was good to me. And I’m sure you can send someone – Diana – Jones – P.C. Plod – to get a statement from her about whatever it is you want me to find out. I’m not a trained agent, remember?”

 

Peter made up his mind and walked away. Neal stayed where he was, and when Peter was far enough away he called El.

“Hon, are you going to be home soon? I was told the power’s back on. Aren’t you back today?”

“Hi, Hon, yes, I got the same news! - on my way…don’t tell me you are going to be home soon?”

“Yeah – I have someone, I have Neal. Could you pick up some food?”

“Just three? What about Moz? Can he come?”

Peter swallowed. “No, no Mozzie. Just the three of us. I need your help.”

“Pity. Mozzie was the one who told us about the wiring, might have saved us from a fiery end! Oh, well, some other time – I’ll get wine, too! See you, Hon.”

Peter groaned. Somehow, he’d thrown a snow-ball and started an avalanche!

 

“I need you to come with me,” Peter said.

“I need to get my things. Nearly home time. I can leave from wherever we go. If there’s transport.”

“Okay. I need my things, too.”

When they reconvened by the elevators, Caffrey had that awful tote again.

“You don’t have to bring that!”

“My things. You said I could get my things. Don’t want the cleaning staff to go off with this – good haul today.”

Peter watched him shove the tote in the back and wondered how he was going to explain it all to El.

They got near his house and Neal asked, suspiciously, “Where are we going?”

“You’re coming home for a decent meal.”

“No.”

“Why? El is expecting you – looking forward to seeing you.”

“So now not only can’t I have _my_ friends, I have to have _your_ friends? I’m pretty sure that my contract doesn’t specify that I have to have meals with you, or any contact other than work.”

“I thought we could solve our problems.”

“Your problems. I have no problems. I now have enough money for pepper.”

“Pepper?”

“Yeah – get rid of that dog. Which will probably come back to my room – or try – now that you’ve gone.”

“Pepper-spray?”

“Cheaper – black pepper in a sock.”

“Money…”

“Yeah, the teams are really generous. Even Ruiz. I think he likes the fact I’m dressed as a homeless person. He gets a kick out of giving me cans, bottles. He likes that I’m very grateful and submissive.”

“But - ”

“Seven hundred, remember? Goes on rent.”

“What have you been eating?”

“Jones took me to lunch the other day. Otherwise…you’d be surprised! Do you know, there’s a whole strata of society that lives by spending very little money. I am now one of them. They’re very friendly. I like them, most of them.”

“Unlike me?”

“Opposite sides of the law. Master-slave. Not usually good companions. Tried it. Didn’t work.”

“Well, slave, you’re coming to my home for dinner.”

“I’ll miss the recycling place! I need pepper!”

“I’ll give you pepper!”

“And a sock?”

Peter ground his teeth as he parked. “And two socks.”

“One sock. An extra sock too big for me is no good to me. Don’t want anything I didn’t earn.”

“Just get out of the car!”

“Yes, Master!”

They walked to the front of Peter’s house and Peter wished there was another way. The door opened and Satchmo tumbled out, barking wildly, and leaped on Peter – then Neal – then Peter! Then he sniffed round their feet suspiciously, especially Peter’s.

“Good dog! Good dog! Did you miss me, then?” Peter said, petting the dog’s square head.

El was at the door and Peter leaped up the stairs, nearly falling over Satchmo, and hugged her tight. “I’m so glad to see you! I need you!”

“Yes, Hon, but not in front of the guest,” El whispered, chuckling. Then Neal walked up into the light and her eyes widened before her polite-hostess mask fell into place. “Neal! How nice you could come!”

“Thank you, Mrs Burke. Didn’t really have much choice, sorry if I’m in the way. I was in the car and Peter drove here.”

“Don’t be silly! What’s with the ‘Mrs Burke’? Come in – hope you’re hungry.”

El’s eyes telegraphed wild questions at Peter as they ate. Peter watched Neal, but the young man didn’t guzzle, he ate slowly and sparingly and said practically nothing. El tried hard to bring him into the conversation, but he would just glance at her, smile a little and answer in monosyllables.

Peter cleared his throat as El poured more wine. “We need to dress Neal in the way to which we’ve become accustomed.” He tried to turn it into a joke.

“Why, what’s happened? June gave you a whole wardrobe, didn’t she?” El swivelled to look at Neal.

“And I gave it back when I moved.”

“You moved? You moved from that apartment with the view? With your lovely classy landlady? But why – oh, Neal, you didn’t take something, did you?”

Neal looked down and El said, “Oh, no. She’s not going to press charges, is she? Neal?” Her big blue eyes turned anxiously to Peter’s. “He’ll go back to prison? You have to do something, Peter!”

“No, nothing like that. I should have spoken to you. Neal didn’t do anything wrong.”

“The things you hear when you haven’t got your Russian surplus,” Neal murmured to himself. “I have a witness, and it’s his wife…”

“I asked Neal to ask Mozzie not to see him for the rest of the time we’re working together, that’s all,” Peter said off-handedly. “He had a tantrum and left June’s.”

Elizabeth was, not surprisingly, confused. “Not to see him? You mean – at all? B-but why would you get rid of Mozzie? I thought he was helpful to you in a number of cases? And – and he was the one who told us to upgrade the wiring, and he was right – the city inspector said it was just a matter of time, and he didn’t speak as though it would have been years, or months!

         “Mozzie could have saved our home, our lives! You got him here to search for bugs! I don’t understand!”

“Never mind that right now,” Peter said, hastily. “I have to find a way of getting Neal rigged out – cheap! And fast! Hughes is annoyed and he can’t do his job. Neal can’t, that is. The FBI wardrobes – their prop department, if you will – has uniforms and suits, but nothing to fit and look sharp the way a successful white collar criminal would look. And anything right and new, well the cost is prohibitive.”

El was only paying him peripheral attention. “Neal – where are you living?”

“I’m fine, Mrs Burke. Can I go home now? I would like to get as much sleep as possible. Is there a bus route close by?”

“You look like hell, and not just the clothes!” Elizabeth jettisoned all manners in the face of this crisis. “I need Peter to help with the dishes. Would you like to take a nap on the spare-room bed?”

“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, the couch then. Please. I’ll get Peter to take you back afterwards. And after we think of some way of getting you looking human.”

“Lots of humans are forced to dress far worse than I am, Mrs Burke. They are still humans.”

“And, Neal Caffrey, if you call me ‘Mrs Burke’ just one more time, I’ll take the wooden spoon to you! Now off with you – go sleep on the couch.”

Neal almost grinned and wandered off, half asleep before he lay down.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” El hissed at her husband, who would almost rather have been with Hughes. Except Hughes wouldn’t help him, and perhaps El would. If he begged. And made promises.

“He’s tired. It’s pretty noisy where …he’s been sleeping. And he’s sulking.”

“Which is where?”

“The motel the FBI uses for people like him.”

El looked at him in horror. “He’s gone back to that flea-infested – oh! _That’s_ why he wouldn’t sleep on the spare bed! – he’s gone back to _that_ place? He described that to me! How could you let him, Peter! A nice kid who has done so much for you! I go away for a short while and you – you – what did you _do?”_

“I told you. Mozzie’s always the one trying to get him to run, encouraging his criminal behaviour, helping him…”

“Mozzie’s helped you, too – and us! He’s nice and I like him. You get him back!”

“Something had to change, El!”

“Not that! You don’t take away people’s friends!”

“Actually, Neal couldn’t consort with any felons, so - ”

“Mozzie’s not got any record whatsoever. Jones told me. Mozzie smirked about it.”

“But if he had – if all Neal’s friends had a record, he couldn’t have them around. So it’s not too big a stretch – I mean, _worse_ that Mozzie’s never been caught! He can teach Neal things, and he’s the proof to Neal that you can get away with breaking the law if you don’t get caught.”

El stared at him. Peter shuffled his feet. She said, “Well, he’s not staying there one more night.” She went out and looked down at Neal’s face, gentled in sleep. She covered him with a travelling rug from the closet and went back to the kitchen. “I'll try talking to June.”

“You can’t. She told me neither of us are welcome there. I went there to get some clothes. I – I didn’t know he’d left.”

“Some handler you are!”

Peter looked abashed.

El asked, “Where have _you_ been staying?”

“The same motel. It’s cheap.”

“Fantastic! I shall book Satchmo in for an anti-flea bath, and right now you can march upstairs and shower, and – oh, hell, do you know how hard fleas can be to get rid of?”

“Sorry, El,” Peter said, mournfully. “I suppose you’re not in the mood - ”

“Go upstairs and shower. Alone. I am far from in the mood, Peter Burke! It’s Saturday tomorrow and instead of a nice, peaceful, romantic weekend with you, I’ll be trying to fix your mess!”

 

Neal complained, quietly and stubbornly, but didn’t have any real chance against Elizabeth Burke. Peter would have enjoyed seeing all this except it was all going in a direction that horrified him! Ignoring her beloved husband almost completely, and gently batting away any of Neal’s objections, she got them to move all of Peter’s things that had been cluttering up the basement into the storage area and set up a bed and some rather minimalist furniture down there.

“It isn’t really a suite, Sweetie,” she said, apologetically to Neal, “but there’s a bathroom – well, a shower-room, we can set up a little kitchenette area here, microwave, coffee-maker, all that. We’ll fix it up as we go. We’ll look after you till we can fix Peter’s mistake, I promise.”

Peter tried to defend himself: “But he’s the one that decided…”

“Don’t speak to me, Peter Burke, unless you tell me you’ve found a decent mattress we can go and buy at a good price…and Satchmo’s appointment is in half an hour, better get him in the car!”

Peter would have been furious if Neal had looked as though he was enjoying this, but he just looked sad, lonely and rather bewildered.

By the time Peter got back, El and Neal had left for parts unknown. Satchmo gave Peter a disgusted look (he didn’t like the smell of the anti-flea shampoo) and walked upstairs. Peter was left wishing he had a time machine – even that weird thing that only went back seven days. Umm…we’ll he’d have to use it twice. Go back fourteen days.

He fell asleep on the couch. That motel _was_ noisy and uncomfortable.

 

He woke to find El clattering angrily in the kitchen. Neal was nowhere to be seen. He staggered through and El said, “Oh, so now you appear! What have you done to Neal?”

“He’s sulking, El! I set some boundaries. I didn’t tell him to leave June’s, I’d never - ”

“But you told him he didn’t deserve to live there, that _you_ couldn’t afford anything like that!”

“He told you that?”

“No, when I found where he was staying, having met him, I went to meet June, see if she was nice. She told me. We were laughing about it, but obviously Neal took it to heart. That was pretty low, Peter.”

“It was true!”

“Maybe, and now he’s going to be living in what you _can_ afford. I spoke to Hughes – we can’t get the $700 for this month, but we will next month.”

“Next month – he’s staying here for how long?”

“As long as it takes for you to sweet-talk June and convince Neal he does deserve to go back!

         “And in my opinion he isn’t sulking, he’s grieving. As I would be. You need to find Mozzie.”

“I am not backing down on this. Mozzie is a terrible influence.”

“Then be prepared to do without the basement for a long while – what, four more years?”

Peter stared at her.

 

El somehow found some suits that fitted reasonably and had them altered. Neal looked much better, physically. He came to meals at the table if El chivvied him to do so, but never volunteered. After dinner he loaded the dishwasher and disappeared downstairs and apparently did nothing except read, sometimes case-files, sometimes books.

He contributed a little to the discussions in the board-room, but there was no mischief, no spark.

Jones and Diana went to Peter. “Look, Boss, you’ve got Neal looking better, but what’s wrong with him?” Diana demanded. “He used to drive me crazy, but in a nice way, funny, silly. He made me smile!”

“Yeah, Peter,” Jones agreed. “Remember him working out what those bonds were worth, Dutchman case? I asked him something about the price of gold in Europe and he just looked at me…he couldn’t seem to concentrate. There is something wrong and it needs to be fixed. When did he last steal a rubber-band ball? It’s unnatural, watching him sit there and work! It’s – it’s unnerving!”

“Yeah, Boss – is he sick?”

“He’s sulking. I did something he didn’t like.”

“He’s the best marathon sulker I’ve ever known!” Jones said, disbelievingly. “This has been going on for months!”

“And he’s messed up every con we’ve wanted him to run for us, well, anything that needed the Caffrey charm and finesse! Hughes is getting antsy. You have to do something!”

“Yeah, Boss – he’s going to get himself chucked back in prison.”

 

One night Peter was woken by his phone. Neal was out of his radius – two miles from Peter’s house, at this point. Peter asked where he was and they told him Caffrey was apparently walking down a street, just walking.

Peter climbed in the car, cursing. If Caffrey was making a break for it, waiting for a car perhaps – why not stay in his range? Why set off the alert? The voice on the other end of the phone directed him, and there was Caffrey. Walking. Calmly. His anklet was blinking red. “I’ve got him,” Peter said into the phone.

Peter got out of the car and went towards him. Neal ignored him completely. He was dressed in his coat. Then he suddenly realised that Neal’s eyes were open, but he was truly not aware…his feet were bare, despite the cold. Those weren’t trousers, they were sleeping pants El had bought him. Neal was sleep-walking. Or Neal was trying to drive Peter mad by pretending to be sleep-walking.

_Those credit card payments for all the stuff for this kid keep ME awake at night!_

Peter tried to remember…don’t wake them up! It was dangerous for some reason.

“Hey, buddy, come get in the car, why don’t you?” he tried. Neal walked on, slow and calm, his eyes glittering weirdly, not seeming to blink. “You must be cold, especially your feet – come on, Neal, come on – get in the car.”

Neal didn’t want to, but Peter guided him to the car and drove home and led him to the couch, at which point Neal lay down and – stayed asleep. Peter covered him with two blankets, he seemed cold despite the coat, and went upstairs to tell El what had happened.

Neal had no recollection of that nocturnal wandering – nor the four over the next two months. He seemed to think Peter was making it all up for some reason.

“This is serious, Peter – get him in with the Bureau shrink!” El demanded.

 

But the ‘Bureau shrink’ could do nothing with a young man that dropped down in his chair and declined to answer questions ‘on the grounds that I might incriminate myself’. She told him anything said was confidential and he forced himself to look her in the eyes and asked, “You’re joking, right? What about when the rules change?”

“Those rules are never going to change!”

But that was the last she got out of him.

 

 

“Is there a history of sleepwalking?” the therapist asked Peter, while Neal sat in the Taurus. “Usually sleepwalking does not suddenly start in adulthood, unless there are other factors. Some drugs can cause it, records show. Usually people ‘grow out of it’ as they age out of childhood. And it usually runs in families.”

“No idea,” Peter said, helplessly.

“Is he sleeping well? Insomnia can bring it on.”

“I – n-no, I don’t think – he was in a difficult situation, noisy, but he’s in a nice quiet room now.”

“Could still be sleep deprived, I suppose,” she muttered. Then, “And stress? Excessive stress is linked to sleep-walking.”

“Um – yes, he’s been under stress. More than usual. Is it dangerous, this sleepwalking?”

“People are usually surprisingly okay, they often just wander about and then return to bed. But it has been taken as a defence in homicide cases, because somnambulists have no recollection at all of their actions…which is why it can be very disorientating to wake them…the last thing they remember is being in bed, and then they’re doing the laundry!”

“I’m responsible for him. At present he’s staying at my house. He’s under my legal supervision. He was in prison for a little over four years.”

“And no reports of sleep-walking in prison? Hmm…

“This is obviously a guess, but he’s not happy, he’s angry and I would suggest that he may be headed for a serious depression. You need to keep a very close eye on him.”

“Who did the other sleep-walkers kill? People they hated?”

“No, no rhyme or reason…of course, they might have thought they were saving their family from some threat, we don’t know…but it’s very difficult.”

“So they dream someone is breaking in and they take a knife to them – but it’s the housekeeper or something?” Peter was getting concerned. Could Neal take out his frustrations about Mozzie by hurting him, or El?

“No. That’s the odd thing about sleep-walking. It takes place in a deep, restful sleep, not one of the – you’ve heard the term REM? – not one of those periods of sleep in which researchers have found people dreaming. And any violence is extremely rare. They usually just do things they normally do.”

_I wonder if he could rob the Met and claim a sleepwalking defence…!_

“So why – I don’t understand.”

“The human mind, Agent Burke, is a fascinating mystery far more complex than outer space, and we have little understanding of it.”

“And then there’s the human heart…”

“Exactly!” The therapist smiled at him, shook her head and said, “Let me know if something further develops. Tell me of further instances of somnambulism. Make sure he isn’t taking drugs. Any out-of-character behaviour.”

 

Peter went home more confused than ever. Did Neal being away from criminals – which had been his companions for the vast majority of his life – constitute unusual behaviour? Enough to stress him out to the point of sleep-walking? Could he be dangerous? Peter couldn’t even begin to consider what Neal would say if he asked if he could lock his room while Neal slept!

And then there was a far more dreadful possibility. Neal read – a lot! He remembered, and his sneaky brain was always hatching plans, putting together a little fact here and a case history there…just in case they might somehow come in handy someday... He had left his spacious loft and gone to a dive that he might have guessed El would get him away from…

Had he somehow ingratiated himself into the Burke household and started sleepwalking - or faking sleepwalking! – so that one day Peter Burke, who had forced him to get rid of his best friend, would be found with a kitchen knife protruding from a bloodless wound and Caffrey would sit in court and look pretty and innocent and site all the cases where someone under stress had committed violent acts and been exonerated…and he was so sorry he’d hurt his friend, _Your Honour, I can’t remember it, I must have thought he was someone else, he took me out of prison and took me into his home, he’s the last person I’d want to kill…_

         …Peter took a mental breath. This was crazy. Neal wasn’t violent. Or was that just part of his con?

 

Neal continued to deteriorate. His colour was poor, he picked at his food. El tried everything to get him to eat well. Peter tried to tell him that if he didn’t snap out of it he wouldn’t be able to keep their contract.

“So I’d have got four more years for nothing, never found Kate. Gave up Mozzie and everything, still go back to prison. Guess I am just really bad at everything.”

Neal got up from the table and went down to his room. Peter watched him go and groaned. _That just made it all worse!_

 

Peter caved. It didn’t happen all at once, but he knew when it began. He didn’t want to, it went against the grain for him, and he hated that he would even consider it, but Neal was losing weight, his skin looked dry, even his eyes seemed less blue.

Peter went down the stairs, knocking on the wall to let Neal know he was coming. Neal was just sitting, apparently staring at nothing. “Neal, kid, come on. I know you’re miserable here. You don’t want to sketch or something?”

Neal glanced over and said nothing.

 

Then came a fateful Saturday afternoon. Neal was supposed to sweet-talk a fence into giving up the name of his supplier of silver coins. Peter had warned Neal how important it was for him to do the job well. Time was running out for Neal.

In the middle of their conversation, another voice broke into the audio, and then a man walked into frame where the team in the van could see him.

“Oh, God, that’s Garry the Gat!” Diana exclaimed. “Temper like Vesuvius and no brakes whatsoever. We need to go, Boss.”

“Neal can save this…he’ll talk his way out. He’s worked with far worse and turned it around!”

Peter was aware that both Diana and Jones turned and looked at him disbelievingly         

                                                                 – and Neal froze. He backed away, eyes wide, hands out as though to stop a bullet, not appease a violent, gun-toting crazy.

“Who’s this?” Garry demanded of the Dan, the fence.

“Just someone wanting a good deal on some coins, Garry.”

“What’s with you, never seen a gun before?”

“I…don’t…like…guns…” Neal stammered, still backing. He was shaking visibly.

“Stand still – come over here! That’s a very strange reaction for someone looking to buy illegal goods from our friend Dan here!” Garry’s little suspicious piggy eyes could be seen to narrow from the video. “You wearing? Why you so nervous?”

Neal didn’t listen. Didn’t seem to hear at all. His eyes were fixed on the muzzle of the revolver pointing straight at his chest…and Garry pulled the trigger – but not before Jones hit Caffrey amidships in a powerful tackle and they both went down hard, deafened by the noise of more shots in the small, concrete area. Then Peter and Diana had Garry in cuffs, Dan had disappeared, and the case was all shot to hell.

Peter stood and watched while Jones checked out how many of Neal’s ribs he’d broken! Till that moment, Peter had thought quite seriously that this all might be one of Neal’s cons.

 

 

Peter went to June’s. He knocked and stood humbly outside till she came.

“June. I’m sorry. Neal – Neal is not doing well. I don’t know what to do. He’s at home right now, he got hurt in a…take-down, bruised and a few cracked bones. But that’s not the problem. He’s lost interest in everything. He’s going to land up back in prison.

         “I – I wondered if he’d left any painting stuff here. I thought perhaps…” Peter ran down.

June looked at him, and her gentle eyes were filled with sympathy. “Come in. There’s something you should see, Peter.”

She took him all the way up to Neal’s…what had been Neal’s… apartment, in another age. She turned on a switch near the door and it illuminated a large oil painting standing on an easel. June stood back and Peter walked over to it.

He’d never been one to pretend that he knew art. Anything abstract or weird was just rubbish to him. But over the years he’d seen examples of many of the great artists. He’d slowly come to understand what makes the difference between poor, good and great.

 

This was magnificent.

 

The light, the textures, the depth, the skin tones…Peter swallowed.

It was the picture of a tombstone. It was surrounded by roses…roses of all colours and shadings of red and white with some touches of apricot and peach. A spray of white dog-rose fell over the stone itself. Above the tombstone was a pitched battle of storm-clouds: almost purple-black in places, with livid white tendrils spiralling from the heavy, jostling masses.

         Between these a chance ray of white-gold light struck the tombstone and spilled glory onto the roses. The tombstone was illustrated with the portrait of Neal Caffrey, head turned, carefree, laughing, his hair charmingly disordered by a breeze.

Below, the perfect representation of chiselled letters in granite were the words:

You never stood a chance, kid.

Rest in peace till we meet again.

 

“But – but - ” Eventually Peter managed the words, but he couldn’t construct clear thoughts.

June said nothing, just stood solemnly and gazed at the painting, her hands folded.

Peter swallowed and tried again. “Why would he paint this? When did he - ”

June glanced across at Peter’s shoulders. “Oh, Peter, no, this isn’t Neal’s work. Mozzie did it for me. Before he left.”

“But - ” Peter frowned a little.

“You didn’t know? Where’d you think Neal got all his technique? Mozzie preferred Neal to paint, he was quicker and less fussy and got great results, but Mozzie’s a truly great artist. Better in the classical style, I think, than Neal.”

Peter stared, thinking what Mozzie had meant…all those months ago.

“Where’s Mozzie, June?”

“Gone. He did that after Neal had left, working through the night. They both did that.” She smiled a little, reminiscently. “Then he wrapped up all the art supplies – they were all his, where did you think Neal would get all that expensive stuff? – and left. Gave me a hug and a kiss and left. I’m sure Neal told him to go somewhere far, far away and never return. Well – perhaps not never… You’ll never find him, Peter.”

“I must. I don’t know why, but Neal can’t live without him.”

“I think Neal cannot live without love,” June mused, softly. “Or at least the hope of love. Perhaps no normal person can. But especially someone as sensitive and insecure as Neal.”

“But _I_ love him!” It was torn out of Peter’s throat.

June just looked at him for a full half-minute. Then she said, “Is that your excuse?” and turned and walked down the stairs.

Peter stood still and drank in the perfect work before him for a long while before he followed June down the stairs. She was standing looking out of the front doorway and her eyes directed Peter out, and he went.

 

Peter drove as fast as he thought was safe, feeling the ghost of that – _that_ Neal, making critical comments to the contrary. He reached his house and parked illegally and ran down the stairs.

“Neal!”

Neal, as was usual these days, didn’t look up.

“Neal – where’s Mozzie?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t had any contact since your three day ultimatum expired.”

“Yes, yes, but you guys always have a way – a newspaper advert, a burner phone, sky-writing! Codes in crop circles! Come on – I want you to bring him back. I was wrong. You must have a way.”

Neal shifted his shoulders and looked straight at Peter and said, “No lies. I told you. Mozzie is gone. June is gone, Kate is gone – they’re all gone. Safe. Well – safe from you. I don’t lie to you, Peter. They’re out of my life completely and forever.”

“It was only supposed to be for your time with me! You must have a way of contacting them after your sentence is up!”

“I could contact June, of course, after four years. After I have legal notification that I am free. But I won’t. Just in case.”

“And Mozzie?”

Neal looked away, shook his head. “Never. I have no idea what continent he’s on, except it isn’t this one.”

“If I told you I’d do anything to bring him back - ?”

“I’d say you were many, many months,” Neal didn’t bother to work it out, “too late.”

“He did a fantastic picture of you, for June, did you know?”

Neal smiled a little, the first in so long, Peter couldn’t remember the last. “He was always so much better than me.”

The smile faded and Neal said, “I’d like to sleep now.” He watched motionless till Peter had left the room.

 

Out of the blue, one day, eating small mouthfuls of a lovely dinner that Elizabeth had brought for the three of them, Neal suddenly said, “Funny thing…just realised the other day…in the spirit of no lying and being on the right side of the law…ain’t no such person as Neal Caffrey. Never legally changed my name back and, by the rules of WitSec, shouldn’t have ever used any part of my real name again – but hey, I was a criminal. And I didn’t know till I read about it. I didn’t realise that calling myself Neal Caffrey was just another alias! But legally, I’m Danny. You need to call me Danny.”

Peter and El just looked at him. Peter sighed. Neal – Danny – was right. WitSec destroyed all records of the original ID – and in fact his crazy father was still at large, though Danny would not be a witness, but he could be used against other witnesses perhaps.

 

Everyone forgot frequently, but Neal was even less responsive to ‘Neal’ than ‘Danny’. He interacted less and less and always seemed tired. He would set his chair back and dose during any break. He didn’t go out with Jones or Diana, ignored everyone unless forced to converse, and whenever he was he seemed uncomfortable and stilted.

 

Two months later: Peter had been stuck at work trying to explain another failed take-down to Hughes, trying to protect his CI. He was exhausted. He got home and started some coffee and went downstairs…and a chill struck him. Everything was cleaned up and neat. Books squared away on the side table. Blankets folded on the stripped bed. The linens had been put in a wash.

Peter took out his phone and called Neal’s. Immediately he heard the tone. It was on the side table. Peter disconnected and called the Marshals.

“Caffrey?”

“Sorry, sorry, not Caffrey. His name is Danny, Danny Brooks.”

“Yeah, Agent Burke – but _he_ called _us._ We picked him up. Thought you’d know. He’s back in prison, already processed.”

“ _What!”_

The man on the other end was a little surprised. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know! Get him back! Do whatever you need to do, I want him out tonight!”

Peter left El a note…he just couldn’t call her with this…told her he’d be late and drove. He might as well not have bothered. Neal had cancelled their deal.

“But, Agent Burke, the deal was for _his_ benefit. _You_ could disallow it at any time. So can he. Yes, it is unusual, but he’s within his rights! He doesn’t have to take a deal! Prisoners don’t have to take parole or release programmes. Most want to…he doesn’t, any more.”

“I want to see him, I want to see him now! I want this reversed!”

“Doubt it can be done…not without a deal of paperwork!”

“Then get the paperwork started.”

“Agent Burke,” said the warden, “that prisoner isn’t accepting any visitors.”

“He’ll see me.”

“Is this official business?”

“Yes – no - ”

“You do know that prisoners have rights? He has no-one listed as visitors and says he won’t.”

“I’m his _handler!”_

 _“_ No, Agent Burke, since the deal has been cancelled, you aren’t. Does he have evidence pertinent to an ongoing investigation?”

Peter sighed. “No.”

“Then I’m sorry, I can’t force him to see you.”

Everyone was beginning to eye Peter strangely. After all, why would a prisoner choose to come back inside if his handler wasn’t some sort of monster?

“He’s been seeing a psychiatrist! He shouldn’t be making these kinds of decisions!”

“Oh – is he supposed to be on some kind of medication?”

“N-no, she as just trying to…please, just let me see him.”

“Agent Burke, you know the law.”

Peter sighed. “Can you look after him? Segregate him from the general population? He’s – he’s at increased risk because of the work he’s been doing with me. And he’s not well…”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

 ** _“You do it!”_** Peter yelled this and they looked at him as though _he_ was the one needing psychiatric care and segregation.

Peter went back and told El, and comforted her as she threw an impressive fit of her own. Peter knew what they were facing. There was nothing they could do. Danny had exercised the one bit of power left to him. Danny had taken it out of their hands.

 

To make matters worse, Hughes was furious with Peter and let him know it in no uncertain terms, loud enough for the whole division – hey, the whole city block – to hear …the wasted time, the wasted money, the botched cases and take-downs and stake-outs…

“This little punk turns his back on our deal! How dare he! You are never going to sell me on that sort of thing again, Burke! I disagreed with you in the first place! Now stop all this nonsense and get your team back on track and get your closure rate up, or I cannot save you – you understand?

“ Your wife has her own business now? Well – you should consider all the benefits you both will lose if you lose this job, and start to work to prove to everyone that you deserve to be here!”

 

When Peter looked over their stats, they were abysmal. They had been good – there was a lovely spike while Neal had been onside in the early days, and then …well, slide and slump wasn’t the term for it…avalanche, as Peter had thought months ago. Hughes piled on the work, piled on the sarcasm, Peter never got home before nine at night and often worked all weekend, too. His team wasn’t thrilled, either.

Peter knew that El had tried to contact Neal – Danny – over and over. Gifts and letters were returned without him looking at them.

Peter wrote and told June, and she wrote back to the effect that, ‘It was bound to happen. Only so many ways this could have ended.’

El kept the room in the basement set up as she had done it for Neal, but neither of them went down there if they could help it. It felt like a tomb. Peter dreamed about Neal, and about Mozzie’s painting. He still thought he had done the right thing. It had just turned out so wrong.

 

 

Five and a half months later Peter received a copy of a form memo that Brooks, D, had been killed in an accident. For a moment he looked at it, his tired brain wondering why he was being notified of…

 

 _“Oh, God!”_ Peter put his head in his hands, and the hot tears burned him like molten lead.

_“Oh, God, please, No!”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

  **The End of this Chapter**...but it is an end. If you like the drama and the grief and the depth of emotion Peter's feeling, **READ NO MORE**.  This is how it originally ended, but I like ghosts...

If this made you too sad...read on to the nest chapter for a little bit of light in the gloom!

 

p>You know I like comments, and I know this isn't what you normally expect from me as a writer. I would like to hear how you felt.

 

 

 

> This was just an idea based on so many ways writers have tried giving Peter power over Neal, and so few have worked. This might have.
> 
> But perhaps Neal would feel isolated because, though he does have contact with some humans, he has no trust in any of those humans. I have read about solitary confinement, it doesn't work, and this is a good article if you are interested:  
>  Everyone, especially in the States, or who cared about Neal, should read it!
> 
> http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2009/03/30/hellhole
> 
> The meaning of the roses in the painting:  
>  Love, Charm, Innocence, Unity, Grace, Unconscious beauty, Mourning, Immortality and Death is preferable to loss of virtue
> 
>  
> 
> Specifically, the dog-rose means: Pleasure and pain

 

 


	2. Visiting Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years pass. Peter goes back, very briefly, to New York.

 

 

 

 

Three years later, in the middle of a warm and beautiful spring, Peter and El returned to New York to get their wills updated and some other papers done up by their lawyers, and take the chance to see some old friends.

Of course, Peter hadn’t made close friends, he was always too busy, but El had many friends here! So it was that Peter found himself at a loose end on Tuesday afternoon and, without really making the choice to do so, found himself driving round his old haunts…their old house, now repainted and looking quite different, the offices – he didn’t go in. Most of the people he’d been close to had transferred out. Hughes had retired to his original home, somewhere far away – the Italian restaurant he’d taken El to had been refurbished, but was still in the same premises.

 

And, again without real volition, he found himself parked, looking at that eternal-seeming white mansion. June’s place. Neal’s place…

He had gone over there angry, excited, miserable, confused. It looked exactly the same as back in those days they worked together and he was glad. Something stayed the same! He at least hadn’t managed to wreck the buildings.

 

He locked the car and walked over, not wanting to draw attention, but just to experience it again. Wouldn’t be back in New York for ages. Probably years. El had come back quite often, with all her contacts, this was the first time he’d accompanied her, and he wouldn’t again. He walked past and continued up the road a way, wishing very hard that he hadn’t made some of those decisions, not understanding the man he was working with, not understanding his psyche, not understanding what he was doing. Not understanding the blind loyalty of his CI, who would knowingly cut off his oxygen supply for his friends.

 

He wanted to wish that he’d never met Neal Caffrey, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way. Not knowing Neal would be like not knowing butterflies and soap-bubbles and fireworks and cirrus clouds. He just wished he’d never caught him. Never put him in prison and certainly never taken him out.

He wished Neal could have become _his_ friend.

 

After walking for quite a way past, indulging in remembering all the good times, vigorously muffling the bad, he turned and started back towards the car. He suddenly wanted to be gone from here. Enough. He’d put his life back together, with some cracks and flaws, and this reminiscing wasn’t helping. He needed to keep looking forward. That’s what the shrink told him. A **_lot._**

 

As he neared the corner, a pretty dark woman was calling to a small child. Peter slowed and watched, smiling. The little girl had a hand-made wooden train-and-carriages on a string and was trying, with some difficulty, to pull it on the uneven sidewalk.

The woman watched, her expression full of love and indulgence. Then she was suddenly aware of Peter, even standing still in the trees’ dark shadow. She hurried over and picked up the little girl and turned to face him: the mother tiger on the defensive. Peter smiled and shook his head.

“I was just watching your daughter play. She’s very pretty.”

“Yeah. She is. We’re going inside now.”

And then Mozzie came out of June’s gate to join the couple. He and Peter stared at each other. Peter mouthed, “I’m sorry!” and was about to turn away when Mozzie said to the woman, “That’s - ”

“Oh, I know who he is,” she said. “I’ve seen old sketches.”

Peter looked at her, hearing the harshness of her voice. The little girl looked at him, becoming nervous.

“It’s okay,” Peter said to the child. “I’m going.”

The child had lovely blue eyes, though the woman’s hard eyes were as brown as the darkest chocolate, and as bitter.

Peter walked past the close-knit group and then, not able to resist, turned and said, “Your child – is she? I mean – _is she - ?”_

The woman said to the little girl, “Look, baby-girl. See the man’s shoes? See the man’s suit? See the man’s hairstyle?” She asked Peter, “Do you have your badge?”

Dumbly, he took it out of his pocket and showed it to her daughter.

“See the man’s badge?” she went on to her baby.

The girl nodded.

“Then what do we say to him if he asks questions?” her mother prompted.

The little girl put an index finger in the corner of her mouth, took it out and, with a charming lisp, quoted, “I pleathed the thifth.”

Her mother hugged her and laughed, then looked at Peter with those dangerous eyes and shrugged. “We all do.”

Mozzie was smiling in delight at the baby. Peter nodded his head and turned away. Then he turned back and said to Mozzie, clearly, “I cannot ask you to forgive me the unforgiveable thing I did. I can only assure you that I would do anything, give _anything_ to undo it. I – I misjudged N- him, and I didn’t see his needs and by the time I did it was too late. I truly am more sorry than I can ever say.”

 

He turned again and walked three strides. Mozzie called, “Suit!”

He turned back. The woman and child, a beautiful madonna statue, still as marble, were watching Mozzie. Mozzie gestured and said, obviously deliberately repeating what he had often said to Neal, “Walk with me.”

 

Peter watched the child as her mother walked inside with her, trying to catch a last glimpse. Then he turned to Mozzie,

“Please, tell me – is that – _please - ?”_

They walked together under the graceful old trees.  The Mozzie answered, carefully,  “After I had said good-bye to – to Neal – she came briefly into his life. He’d been trying to contact her. He was still trying to save Kate and she might have had something to – to help. He met her and explained about you. Told her to leave and never return, and she did, till well after...you had no hold on him. They had been lovers, briefly, many years before. She left him alone when he got all entangled with Kate, but she always had a soft spot for Neal, and he was in some sort of shock at the time, desperate for love. Their last good-bye left that cute little legacy.

         “There is nothing you can do to them. She is not registered. She was born in Canada. Born at home. No birth certificate…well, nothing the authorities would recognise. No government owns her. And I will protect them as long as we all live.”

“I don’t want to hurt Neal’s daughter! I know it’s hard to believe now, but I didn’t want to hurt Neal! Mozzie, I loved Neal!”

Mozzie looked up at him gravely. “June said so. But you can’t love what you don’t understand, Suit. Not a misunderstanding of that depth!”

“I was impatient and I – I thought he … it doesn’t matter.”

“No, it doesn’t change things, but I am glad I have looked into your face and heard what you felt about him.”

“Why?”

“Well, I was conflicted. I didn’t want to hurt El, after all, she seemed ready to accept us, be good to us.”

Peter swallowed, not able to misunderstand. “I – I thought you didn’t like violence?”

“That was Neal. I usually avoid it. People are merely hurt, after all, not responsible for their actions. But I make exceptions.” Mozzie’s voice was hard and menacing.

Peter answered the menace. “I deserve whatever you choose to do to me. But El doesn’t. She tried so hard to help Neal. It nearly split us apart, nearly destroyed everything for her. She’s so special. She and I are trying to work it out. I am trying to make it up to her, be a better person.”

“You didn’t think to speak to me, or even June, before issuing your ultimatum?”

Peter shook his head, looked down. “I was arrogant and proud and stupid, Mozzie. I took him up on that bloody contract because I didn’t want him in prison for another four years – but also because I wanted his help to catch Curtis Hagen. I knew he was after Kate!

"What – do you know what happened to Kate?”

 

“I found out after the fact. The guy who was trying to get information had no further use for her and shot her in the face with a shotgun. She was buried upstate as a Jane Doe, a body found badly damaged by fish and crabs amongst some remote rocks by the sea-shore. Fingers mostly eaten. No dental of course…”

“Because I – because of - ”

“He was a violent and greedy man, Suit, who used anyone he could. And, for Neal’s sake, to say nothing of society in general, I handled that problem a while ago.”

 

Peter looked at him, realising that he had indeed been given another chance by this strange man he understood less than he had understood Neal!

 

“Why didn’t you come after me…I did worse things to you.”

“No, you didn’t. The man who murdered Kate, who originally got Kate to leave Neal in prison, who therefore got Neal to escape and get four more years and end up in that deal with you…he literally didn’t care about anyone. Perhaps a little for Neal, surprisingly, but not if he got in the way.

         “June told me how devastated you were that your plans had gone awry, so you were just misguided, Suit. I might have revisited that, had I not seen you today, I was busy…” He indicated June’s, meaning, Peter understood, the mother and child.

Peter said, sadly, “I just thought he’d be …”

“…easily wooed over to the ‘white hats’ ?”

“Yes.”

“But all you did was show him none of you could be trusted. Can’t you see how cruel you appeared to him?

“And I truly wish he had been ‘re-educated’, rather than imploding.”

Peter smiled very slightly. “I’m surprised. But you obviously loved him, too.”

“Yes, Suit. More than you know.”

Peter shook himself. “Thank you for telling me. If there is anything – if there is _anything_ I can do for you, for June, for – for them,” he made a head gesture. “I don’t have a lot of money, but I do have some power in law enforcement again. If any of you need help, get into any trouble, you could call me?” He pulled out his card and gave it to Mozzie, who carefully took it by the edges, making Peter smile a little again.

Mozzie stared hard into his face. “I doubt we will need it, but I take your offer in the spirit in which it was meant, Suit. And Suit, I thought you knew – money is never the problem.”

“Thank you, Mozzie. Keep safe and well.”

“Yeah. Give my love to El.”

 

 

 

The End

Greedy author invites comments.


	3. Peter fulfils his Promise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin...but did any bargain with Mozzie ever turn out to be simple and easy?

 

 

 

Peter was sitting in his corner office. He was struggling with a picture-frame, trying to put a newer photograph of Elizabeth into it for his desk. He felt a little lighter. He and El had worked through all their problems, and he felt more secure within himself. He wasn’t anybody’s blue-eyed boy in the Bureau anymore, but his career was reasonably solid again. He was trying to lure Diana away from her current position, but she was up for another promotion, and didn’t need him.

He’d spoken to Diana recently and she was fulfilled and secure, happily married. She laughed with him over the phone, reminded him of funny, silly things that had happened when they were together at White Collar…but she was sore at him, Peter knew. He knew because she never once mentioned Neal Caffrey.

He’d managed to move on. He hardly ever thought about Neal except when something like that – Diana’s avoidance of him – brought it to mind.

It was late and all the cases they were working on were closed. He glanced over the room. Nice kids – everyone looked like a kid to him, now! – but not like that White Collar Division! They had something! They trusted each other, _liked_ each other. _Oh, well. Not going to get Diana. At least I worked with her once._

Clinton Jones was running a very successful security firm. He and Peter got together for a beer about once a year. He kept meaning to ask El to ask the Jones’ family over for dinner when they were in town, but kept forgetting.

The phone rang. Peter picked it up, expecting El, and heard a strange mechanical voice saying a number. For a second he didn’t react, startled, then he grabbed a pen and scribbled…but the voice repeated the number twice, added “you promised, remember? Use the package that’s on your desk.” before the line went dead.

 

How odd things were…he’d just been thinking about Neal because of Diana and this call…it had to be Mozzie. Or…Neal’s daughter or rather his daughter’s mother. And he had said he’d help. There was a brown bubble-pack envelope on his desk, in his in-box. He sliced it open carefully and inside was a burner phone. He sighed.

He didn’t think that scornful, elegant woman would ever have deigned to ask for help, and he couldn’t believe that Mozzie ever would need his help, but this had to be them. No-one else, despite his profession, had ever brought the level of cloak-and-dagger that Mozzie did! He smiled a little, remembering.

 

 

In the spirit of friendship with that strange, pocket-sized criminal, and their mutual, now deceased friend, he did not call from the office – they’d be sure to say it was bugged, watched, whatever - but left by the front doors and walked a little way till he reached an open area. The sky was darkling, the shadows were deepening.

He looked around. No-one in sight. He took the burner and the note with the number out of his pocket and started to dial when a voice at his elbow said, “Don’t waste the minutes, Suit.”

He got such a shock that he nearly dropped the phone!

“How did you – where – _Mozzie!”_ He thrust the phone back in his pocket and, much to Moz’s obvious surprise, he shook his hand.

“Suit, are you on any medication?”

Peter was confused. “I – I just – sorry – I - ”

“You got my message.”

“Yes – you need help? You – or – them? Neal’s family?”

Mozzie nodded. “If you would do something for us, we’d be very grateful. It’s not as though we can’t do it, but it’s the end of a long …a long plan. And you did say you’d help.”

Peter felt a twinge of disquiet. “I owe you, all of you, but – do I have to break the law?”

Mozzie stared at him, exasperated. “What good would you be to us if you didn’t, Suit?”

“Oh, um - ”

“Were those just empty words, Suit, so I didn’t gut you like a freshly-landed salmon? Or did you mean you wanted to make up for leaving us eternally one man short – and no short-man jokes, I’m not in the mood.”

“No, no – if you think I can do it, I’ll do it.”

“You fly to Toulouse, stay over at the Pullman, you’re registered already, take a bus to Andorra. Here are your tickets and passes. You book into the Hotel Màgic Andorra and spend some time each evening in the Social Room until you are contacted by someone carrying a yellow umbrella.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“Yeah. But you take this and give it to the contact.” Mozzie handed Peter a small package, a smaller and flatter than a match-box, taped-up well with flesh-coloured duct tape.

 

“What’s this?” Peter demanded, taking it and trying to judge its weight.

 

Mozzie looked at him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Suit…do you?”

 

“Oh. I guess not.          

                 “You have any ideas how I get this through all the airport security we have now?”

 

“Suit, I would think you have some ideas…do what you have to do.”

 

Peter looked aghast. He swallowed and went on, “It’s not…”

 

Mozzie cocked his head on one side. “It’s not explosive, or poisonous, won’t set off metal detectors or anything like that. Us having it will not bring harm to anyone. We just need it moved across the world and then my little adopted family will be set for life.”

 

Peter shifted, uneasy. “If I don’t?”

 

Mozzie shrugged. “We’ll find another way. We just thought you would have a little less chance of being searched because you carry a badge. Tell me now if you do not want to do it, return it to me and we’ll say good-bye.”

 

Mozzie waited patiently.

 

Peter asked, “Are they well? The little girl…Neal’s daughter…is she well?”

 

Mozzie smiled softly. “She is adorable. As smart as you would think she’d be, loving. _She_ won’t grow up without parents, even if I’m not exactly what _you_ would call ideal, but I will do my best!”

 

“I’ll do it,” Peter said. “I’ll need a week, ten days, to set up leave - ”

 

“You have to tell El. Your leave is okayed for Wednesday, when the tickets are for.”

 

“How did you – no, no, don’t! Don’t tell me! El can’t come with me?”

 

“Suit, if something goes wrong, you don’t want her involved. Tell her nothing, make her think it’s government business. Plausible deniability.”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

“You sure you can do this?”

 

“Yeah, Mozzie, I can do this.”

 

 

 

Peter felt very odd lying to Elizabeth. He just said it was a quick trip for work…and it was, just not _his_ work! “I’ll explain later, Hon,” he promised. “It’s confidential. A secret.” _That’s true!_

 

She was content to let him go, since he would only be gone a few days.

 

( _I hope!)_

 

He had stayed awake contemplating his decision. He knew it had sprung from a sense of guilt, of needing to do penance…but this could finally put all the coffin nails in his career if he was caught! He wasn’t a very good liar, though now and then he had run good cons – that’s what Neal called them! And usually he did it with Neal in mind, as though that spark of creative, if evil, genius, would help him through the act! He would have to make this work. He couldn’t fail El again.

 

So many things could go wrong. The airport security might sense his unease and search him. He dreaded the thought. He must put on a good front. He knew what Neal had gone through. All agents knew how to conduct a strip search, and if that wasn’t bad enough, a cavity search - ! He himself had never had to conduct either on another man, and he certainly didn’t want to experience either!

 

And then, if the – contraband – was discovered, that would only be the beginning. He’d go to prison. He’d leave El all alone. He may never touch her again! He knew the dangers of being a LEO on the inside! How the mighty would have fallen…how Neal would mock from up there – or wherever he had ended up! Peter felt a strong sense that Neal would never go to hell… _he’d be able to talk his way out of that one!_

 

Of course, the more terrifying possibility was that this was all revenge on the part of two of Neal’s friends. That this innocuous little package would suddenly start beeping as he went through security or something… and they would have the place completely wired and, on lonely winter nights when Neal’s wife felt cold and sad, or Mozzie wished he had his partner in crime, they’d bring out the caviar and Cabernet Sauvignon – or whatever wine went best with caviar, he was no expert! – and watch as Agent Peter Burke’s life went all to hell, and laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh.

 

But he’d promised, and he always insisted that Neal never lie to _him_ , so he was stuck with this. He found himself wondering which suit would be less suspicious – or would a sweater and blue-jeans – no, that was less professional.

 

_If this is a set up, Mozzie is getting his money’s worth out of me in sweat!_

 

He wore a suit. It made him feel more like an agent and less like a criminal – it was an FBI suit. His lucky one. He didn’t wear it that much, even he could see it was looking a little threadbare in places – _not the kind of suit a successful criminal would wear!_

 

_I caught Neal in it, let’s hope no-one catches me in it!_

 

He kissed his lovely wife before she left and tried not to do it in a desperate, this-may-be-the-last-time kind of way! Then he checked that he had everything he’d need, and, hating everything about this, secreted the little parcel and left for the airport.

_This is much worse than taking down a dangerous criminal! They might think that they’re taking down a dangerous criminal and it’s just **me!**_

He tried to think through all the things he should and shouldn’t do.

 

_Don’t clutch my bag so tight! Careful of breathing too shallow! This is **crazy!** Perhaps I should just go home – no, I can’t! Don’t sweat! I should have brought some cough medicine or something, explain why I look hot or pale – Neal would have thought of that! Except he wouldn’t need it! Oh, am I punished for my pride! Not enough, probably, for Moz and Neal’s daughter’s mother. Hopefully for the Man Upstairs…please don’t let them search me. Please, please! I’m not bad! I am trying to be better!_

By the time he was sitting on the plane he felt as though he’d run up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art twice which, considering his ex-CI’s chosen profession, seemed apt! But, un-Rocky-like, he was just dog-tired.

_How did they do this sort of thing regularly, with no backup, no safety net, **how?** And talk about it as though it was fun…’not about the money!’ This thing better be the key to a safety-deposit box with a trillion dollars in it! Or a super-special computer chip worth billions._

 

His seat-mate was a little old lady who immediately started telling him about her grandchildren. If Mozzie had planted her there to drive him crazy, it didn’t work. He found her and her seven grandchildren nice and normal and soothing…at least for the first two hours.

 

Having attained the relative safety of the plane, he relaxed and even managed some sleep on the long flight. Thank goodness there was no smoking on planes now!

 

He woke before they were close to touching down, giving him much too much time to think. Now he’d be in France, all the officials would be French, they wouldn’t care nearly as much about him being an FBI agent! _The people overseas are often very suspicious of Americans…well, people from the USA. I’m surprised Mozzie didn’t offer me a Canadian passport!_

However, everyone was perfectly polite, they processed him and his baggage and he found himself at the Pullman Hotel, quite exhausted. He was very glad Mozzie had insisted he stay there for at least one night and catch up on sleep before he had to cross yet another border! It was comfortable and quite quiet and they knew immediately who he was and spoke to him in English. He phoned El to tell her he was fine, then wondered if he should have done that, but – _too late!_ He ate, showered and slept and felt much better.

 

He just couldn’t get as worried about the thought of crossing over into Andorra as he had about getting on the flight in New York! Perhaps because it was a bus ride. Perhaps because the officials and security people here just didn’t seem as suspicious or hostile, which surprised him. Perhaps he was suffering from adrenaline overload or something!

 

Toulouse had many red brick buildings, it had an established, solid, homey look. Peter found himself responding to the place. El would love this! It was small and beautiful, he thought. It looked as though there were many charming little places to discover, interesting shops and restaurants.

 

Not only that, but the countryside all around the area was just answering the warm spring weather. As the bus he boarded left the city, there were fields producing green shoots, trees were leafing or even flowering. There were lovely, very European views wherever he looked. He would have enjoyed it immensely under normal circumstances.

 

They travelled through towns and villages and some buildings were modern and, to Peter’s eye, less attractive, but there were many old buildings, many were what he thought of as typically Italian: old, settled, rough plaster, clay tile roofs. He almost forgot the danger he was in.

 

Then they started to climb. He was glad he wasn’t doing this trip in the winter! There were some steep inclines and roads that perched on the hillsides and wouldn’t have been fun in a heavy snow storm…and then all at once they reached Andorra.

 

He felt suddenly awkward. No-one spoke English well. His French and Spanish – to say nothing of Catalan! – could be dangerous! He followed Mozzie’s written instructions (that he’d read and destroyed, even if it wasn’t by eating the message, as suggested!) and told them he was coming to see the country, he’d been in France and was told he should journey to Andorra if he had the chance, and he was thinking of bringing his wife later in the year if they could, and perhaps now he would look into opening a bank account?

 

This last, Mozzie had instructed, was to explain any nervousness, as Andorra is a tax haven, at least at present, and many US citizens, while wanting all the benefits, feel as though they are committing a crime.

 

They stamped his passport again, and he boarded a bus for his hotel and, when he was finally in his room at the Hotel Màgic Andorra, he breathed a sigh of relief. Mozzie had made everything easy for him…though he had requested a different room, on the assumption that Mozzie might well bug the one originally designated for him! He had never trusted the clever, never-caught criminal who now had added reasons for disliking him.

 

He thankfully retrieved the reason for his trip and spent a little while unpicking the seam of his casual jacket, slipping the little thing through and sewing it up again. He wasn’t likely to leave his jacket somewhere, the air outside was still sharp.

 

Peter had always tried not lie to himself. He knew that one of the reasons he’d come, one of the reasons he’d taken all the risks, was that he was hoping for another quick look…even a _glimpse_ of Neal’s daughter. He wasn’t sure why this was so important to him. That a little bit of Neal lived on? That the brilliance, the joy, the beauty would continue? That his mistake didn’t ruin everything?

 

But Peter knew so many children who were totally unlike their parents. Genetics said a child would be more like a grandparent, and, knowing a little of Neal’s past, that wasn’t a great recommendation!

 

And what was the chance that determined, protective woman would let the murderer of her lover see their daughter? Because, though he hadn’t meant the bullet to kill Neal, he had held the gun. No matter what El or the half-dozen shrinks said, he knew he was guilty.

 

The first day he saw no-one carrying any sort of umbrella, the days were pleasant and fine. Andorra was less friendly to English speakers. He felt very alien here. It was so very _not_ -America. The smells were different, the light, the paving stones…As a holiday destination, it would be an advantage, quaint, exotic but because of his tension, the lack of the familiar put him further on edge. He wished the yellow umbrella would turn up and he could hand off the dangerous little thing that Mozzie could use to destroy him even on the steps of the cathedral, within sight of sanctuary.

 

Two nights after he’d arrived, as it was getting late, he was sitting in the Social Room, writing postcards he never intended to send and trying to get the Moody Blues out of his head when he caught sight of a flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye.

 

Without haste he put all his things in a writing case and stood up. He saw the yellow umbrella disappearing up the street. He stretched a little and went after it. He could hear someone playing a radio or something somewhere… a nice tenor was singing,

 

“But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,  
If I am dead, as dead I well may be,  
You'll come and find the place where I am lying,  
And kneel and say an Ave there for me,  
And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,  
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,  
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,  
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me…”

 

Peter stood still and shivered. It was like an omen. He swallowed, feeling a hand wrapped round his heart. He always thought of his kid as Neal, but it had been Danny – his Danny-boy that died. In the song, of course, Danny returns to find his _father_ dead. Was Mozzie, for Neal’s sake, to say nothing of the rest of society, going to exact retribution?

 

Peter breathed a huff of air. No matter. He had promised and so what…it was just, if that’s what they planned. And if Mozzie wanted him dead, dead he might as well be, if not tonight, then one night…

 

He hurried to where he’d last seen the yellow umbrella. He turned a corner and saw that it was a man carrying it. A man in an oversized gambler hat and oversized trench coat. From the size and walk, Mozzie. He hurried to catch up, but somehow, like a winning lottery ticket in a breeze, the smaller man easily out-paced him.

 

The man never looked back, but reached a small house strongly reminiscent, for Peter, of Swiss chalets on old postcards. He opened the door and went in, leaving it ajar.

 

Peter got to the door and followed, closing it after him. The room was almost completely dark, but from lights outside he could see Mozzie, he thought, standing against the far window.

 

“Got it?” Mozzie asked.

 

“Yes.” He started to take off his jacket. “I have to – get it from the seam…”

 

“Good. Wait here. Close the curtains.”

 

“Mozzie – Mozzie?” The man stopped. Peter went on, hesitantly, “Is – is _she_ here? Neal’s daughter? I know I shouldn’t ask, but I’d really like to see her.”

 

“You shouldn’t ask. And you shouldn’t see her. What for – because you did us a small favour in exchange for…what you did?”

 

Peter sank down on a chair. “Yeah. Stupid request. You’re going to be able to – yeah, I guess you will.”

 

“Far better than someone within your silly system, Suit!”

 

Peter smiled a little and nodded. “I can well imagine.”

 

“I have become the protector, the guardian angel, if you will.”

 

“Mmm – angels come in both colours, don’t they?”

 

Mozzie huffed a laugh. “The dark ones never do good, and I shall never do her harm, if that means anything. And she’s not my daughter, and to let you see her would never be my decision to make.”

 

Peter thought of those brooding, bitter eyes and shrugged. It should be enough to know of her existence. It was going to have to be.

 

“I may not see you again, Suit. Thank you for doing what you did for us now. I know it must have been difficult for a man of your stamp.” He turned and walked out the far door and closed it, locking it behind him.

 

 

Peter waited in the dark. Used to the racket of the cities in the US, he was almost spooked by the quiet. He got up and, fumbling a little, closed the heavy curtains which made the room darker still. He found a small table lamp next to his chair and located the switch. A diffident sphere of warm, dim light blossomed around him. He took off the jacket and started to work open his stitches.

 

He’d just got the thing free when he looked up to see a shadow holding a rifle. The barrel gleamed as the light caught it. It was pointed at him, rock-steady. His brain supplied the information that rifles were almost a requisite in Andorra, every man over the age of eighteen had to have one ready so they could be called upon in emergencies, wasn’t that it? A good reason to bring him here.

 

It never mattered how often you looked at imminent death, the body’s fight or flight responses kicked in just the same.

 

Even his training didn’t make it easy to look away from that barrel, but he looked up. In the dark, it was very hard to get any idea of who the person was, but the shoulder-hip ratio said it was a thin man, dark clothes, hat with a brim over his eyes, like Indiana Jones.

 

Not knowing quite what to say, Peter slipped the package down the side of the chair, in case this man wasn’t the one who Mozzie expected to come and get it from him.

 

“Hallo, Peter,” the man said, and Peter stood up as though pulled by strings. He stared.

 

“N-neal – no, no, Danny - ?”

 

But this wasn’t Neal or Danny, though the resemblance was there. The voice was similar but gruffer. The man tipped his head a little and Peter could see a scar across his cheek.

 

“You carrying?”

 

“No. No jurisdiction, it was bad enough –

....................“Mozzie sent you?”

 

“Yes.” There was a moment’s thought on behalf of the armed man, and then the black death-dealing circle tipped up and disappeared as he shifted the rifle to his right hand alone.

 

“I should have known – Neal didn’t like guns.”

 

“You shouldn’t believe everything anyone ever tells you, Agent Burke,” the man said.

 

“He never lied to me.”

 

“He said. Blackfoot Indian, Whitefoot Indian.”

 

Peter shrugged it off. “Can I give you this thing and get out of here?”

 

“Soon as you like. You have it?”

 

“Yes. Wait – what artist’s work did Neal forge for a young girl and what was her name?”

 

The man laughed and Peter’s skin crawled a little. “I’m not going to incriminate Neal, even after his death, Burke! He never forged any artwork, remember? Court of Law? Most stuff you could ask me I could find out, you know? Wouldn’t be hard.”

 

“What did I give to my wife for her anniversary when Neal was with me? What did I call her?”

 

“Better. A trip to Belize…but the real gift was a faux holiday on the balcony of the apartment Neal used for a short time. To you she was El, short for Elizabeth, but usually you called each other Hon.”

 

Peter scrabbled in the chair. “I have it here. Do I lay it down and leave?”

 

“No. Sit.”

 

Peter sat obediently. The man still had the rifle. Not that he had any wish to tussle with a stranger of unknown abilities for an unknown something he didn’t want to ever, ever see again. They’d been intimate for far too long. The man set down the rifle and walked closer. He handed Peter an envelope and sat down in a chair opposite, his face still shadowed by the hat he wore. “Mozzie said to read that.”

 

Peter tore at the envelope, annoyed that his fingers were shaking. Inside was neat printing done on a typewriter…and no, he had no idea where anyone would get a typewriter, and there were no databases listing typewriters’ distinguishing features. He angled it towards the light. It said,

 

**Suit,**

**“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.”    ― Rumi,**

**“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” -  Bucchianeri,**

**By the way, congratulations, you have now successfully smuggled a Fisherman’s Friend across the Atlantic and into Andorra!**

  
Peter read it twice. He looked up at the man, who had taken his hat off, and was smiling.

 

“Hallo, Peter!” he said.

 

“Neal – it _is_ you – Danny - ”

 

“Jesse, actually.” The man shrugged.

 

“As in James?” Peter asked, not knowing quite what to say.

 

“Good family man, they say. Good looking in a sort of Smother-brother type of way – Tom, not the other one. Mozzie wanted Harry Longabaugh, but…someone…didn’t think I looked enough like a Harry. And Mozzie did like the fact that there is a theory that James cheated death and reinvented himself as Ford and lived to a ripe old age in wealth and security.”

 

“Longabaugh. Sundance. Yeah. His alias is so well known, no-one knows his real name!”

 

“And it isn’t ‘James’.” He didn’t say what it was.

 

Peter’s heart was beating hard with joy. He said, “How did you – I thought – I was so - ” He swallowed. He whispered, “I’m sorry, N – Jesse. I would never have – I didn’t know.”

 

“June told me. She said we should expect Lawmen to be idiots, and not to blame you too much.”

 

“I deserve that.”

 

“Yeah, you do.”

 

“It took me so long, but even if I’d realised earlier – you’d got rid of Mozzie, you couldn’t get him back.”

 

Jesse shook his head as though to clear it. “I can’t remember much of that, as though it happened to me, anyway - it’s as though I was drugged. Living in tar.”

 

“Can you tell me – how did you – I got a report on your death! I checked – they identified you positively! Your teeth, fingerprints, I don’t understand. Oh, God, N- Jesse! I am so glad to see you!” He reached out and the man opposite pulled back instinctively, then stopped himself.

 

“Sorry,” Jesse said. “I don’t remember clearly and yet – you seem to be part of the darkness.”

 

“I was the cause.”

 

“I’m told it was because you wanted to – persuade me – to become good.”

 

“Yeah, dumb, huh?”

 

There was an uncomfortable silence, but Peter was still searching the man’s face in the gloom. There was the scar, but there was also a hardness, a roughness that Neal never had. Then the man looked up again and smiled. “You could be as dumb as a stump when it came to inter-personal relations!” and Peter saw Neal underneath Jesse’s skin and smiled back.

 

“Come on – tell me how you did it!”

 

“I did nothing except contract bronchitis. All this is just a faded, blurry dream, I had to be told all this. And at the time I was truly very ill. So for what it’s worth – they were transporting me and another prisoner to hospital, the truck was stopped and everyone was drugged …sedated, I mean, not killed. Ultrafine ketamine powder blown into the truck. The prison guards and the other prisoner were dragged clear. The truck was wiped down, and set ablaze with a man my size inside it. The living men were given a ketamine injection in addition, loss of memory is a common side effect. And since I was likely to be exposed, and the other prisoner, too, interesting that it's good for those with respiratory problems and pain. Trust Moz.”

 

“But the dental records. They said it was an exact match, the fingerprints on the truck were yours…! They didn’t bother to do a DNA-match because of the dental records from the prison.”

 

“Yeah. Again, careful what you rely on. Databases are lovely things, useful, and to successful hacker, easier to open than a present at Christmas.”

 

Peter frowned. “But the other guy – the guy who died in your place…I know it was to save you, but - ”

 

“Mozzie and his friend, the computer…person…kept a look out for John Doe’s matching my description.”

 

Suddenly there was a movement off to the side and they both reacted. Mozzie, having shed his outer-wear, stuck his head in. “I’m assuming we’re all good, since I have heard no gun fire?”

 

“Yeah, were good, Moz. You should be telling about how you got me, all useless at the time, out of Federal Custody.”

 

“Who was the body?”

 

“Not a clue, Suit. But he was almost an exact match for height, weight, good musculature, right race and age. He was killed in an automobile accident, some head injuries, which was good. We saw a lot of dead bodies before we found him. And when no-one claimed him and he was going to be buried as a John Doe….”

 

“But you can’t just steal a body!”

 

“It’s easier than you’d think, Suit,” Mozzie said, standing by the door. “Morgues…most people outside don’t want to get in, and most people inside can’t get out, so…”

 

“I think he might mean that it’s wrong, or against the law, or unethical, or something to steal a body, Moz,” Jesse said with a small laugh.

 

“Oh. Well – he was dead. Might as well make himself useful. Sure he didn’t care! He was buried as Neal Caffrey, famous criminal. How much better could he have done? They did, you know…not Danny, Neal. I liked that.”

 

“And then you gave N- Danny bronchitis?”

 

“No, we were working on another plan, more dangerous, when these two prisoners got bronchitis. Neither had received any visitors during their stay, both were actually in a pretty poor way, so no-one thought there’d be an attempt to release them. We called an ambulance after we were sure we’d got the blaze going nicely. I don’t think the other guy got away, poor sap. He was as sick as you were, Jesse. Never followed up – probably should.”

 

“And you got someone to switch all the computer records.” Peter tried to imagine it.

 

“Mmm…in case the fingerprints survived, we went round placing his hand wherever a prisoner would have. It worked. And he was really well burnt, the prison morgue reported. A lot of folks there were very sad. You were well-liked, Jesse…well, Neal was, Danny was.”

 

“But – but – you had a body. How could you know that N- Neal would get sick?”

 

“We didn’t! It was just fortunate, as it turned out.”

 

“But -”

 

“We kept him in a freezer, Suit. So he’d be nice and fresh for when we needed him. We had to thaw him out, it was quite an interesting exercise.”

 

“How horrible.”

 

“I wanted my friend. And the other guy was already _dead_ , Suit! No-one home!”

 

“Yes, I see I under-estimated both of you.”

 

The two criminals looked at each other and smiled. Mozzie got up and left. “Got to go baby-sit.”

 

“Your daughter - she’s beautiful.”

 

Jesse’s whole face softened, he looked very much as Peter first remembered him for a moment. “She is, isn’t she?”

 

Peter sighed. “So what happened…Mozzie got you free?”

 

“Got me free, in an ambulance, false papers, got me into Canada, flew me across to Vancouver. Along with…my wife, now, and baby. No-one thought I was a criminal with the whole family along!”

 

“You’re married?” Peter laughed. “I don’t think of criminals being married!”

 

“I’m well and truly married!” Jesse showed him a plain gold band.

 

“Why Vancouver?”

 

“Two brilliant men…one therapist, one a clinical psycho-neurophysiologist. Moz got these two working with me and I slowly came out of the fog I was in. Now I sort of remember, but without any emotion, like reading a newspaper report. That wasn’t the worst. The worst was that I didn’t know how to be happy, I didn’t want to be happy. I wanted to die. It’s still a day-to-day thing. Some better than others.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Yeah, stop saying that. Doesn’t help. I know you didn’t mean to do what you did to me, just be careful of people, okay? You thought you knew me, how I’d react. You didn’t. Your only fault was stupidity.”

 

Peter swallowed. The judgement could have been much harsher. “Your…wife hates me, or did.”

 

“Yeah. Less now.”

 

“Now?”

 

“That you proved you were sorry. That you came here. Want to give me the smuggled goods? In case I have a sore throat?”

 

Peter picked up the little flat thing and winced and chuckled all at once. “I don’t think you want to do that, considering what I did to…keep it hidden.”

 

“You didn’t!” The other man threw back his head and laughed with real delight! “Mozzie would have won the bet. Lucky I didn’t take it! And – lucky for you it was well-wrapped!”

 

Peter asked, smiling to see his friend laugh, “Why did you get me here? You obviously didn’t need this cough lozenge, and I wouldn’t think any of you cared if I was truly repentant, just cared that I was out of your life. So apart from providing amusement for the criminal classes, which I quite appreciate – why?”

 

Jesse sobered a little, but there was still a twinkle. “Partly therapeutic. My therapists thought I was somehow stuck because of…because of you. That you had some sort of hold over me.”

 

Peter raised his eyebrows.

 

“Well, I just did as you told me to do. I told the truth. I didn’t run, I didn’t try and find new friends. They thought it odd. Out of character.”

 

“That’s why I thought you were doing it – to – to – I sort of thought you were sulking, N- Jesse.”

 

Jesse thought a moment. “It felt as though you’d torn my skin away. I hurt so much. All over, inside. I just tried to stay out of draughts. They hurt too much. I didn’t want to touch anyone, even talk. And then I got frightened because my mind stopped working. It was all I could do to hold on and not freak out, every minute of every day. I was so tired and – there was nothing of me left. So I went back inside.”

 

“I love you, you know? I know it’s hard for you to believe…”

 

“Oh, I loved you too, oddly. I thought we might have fun. I was becoming very fond of you, trusting you. After prison, I was just beginning to feel I had a future…friends, a home, a job, perhaps real permanence for the first time I could remember. When you used all your power against me, that’s when…it all crashed in on me. It was all fake. Like everything else in my life: my home, my parents, my name, Kate, Adler – everything. Except Moz and June, but you made me give them up. There was nothing I could do. I had failed at everything.”

 

Peter wondered about Adler, why Neal had thought Kate had turned on him, but this wasn’t the time. “I see. Has it helped, me coming here? Because then it would be worth it, h-hiding that bloody thing and sweating at the airport and – and not breathing high in my chest – and - ”

 

Neal laughed again – Jesse laughed again. “I would never have thought you’d do that!”

 

“Guess you under-estimated me, too!” Peter said, pretending haughtiness.

 

“Why’d you come?” Jesse said, softly. “Because yeah, it has helped. A lot. I can see the man I saw right at the beginning. The man, not the monster.”

 

“Good.

...............“I came because I promised your wife and Mozzie I’d do anything if they needed help. I sort of thought it would mean getting rid of some parking tickets or perhaps bailing them out, or speaking to a judge at their trial…something _simple!”_

 

“But when Moz told you what they wanted you to do?”

 

“I’d promised.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I’ll still do whatever I can to help you four…but not smuggling, not ever again. Nothing small, anyway!”

 

They laughed together.

 

"I shall keep this!" Jesse chuckled, pocketing the tiny wrapped Friend. "To remind me of a friend."

 

“Can I tell El?”

 

“’Bout me? She’d care?”

 

“N- Jesse! We have been in therapy ourselves for years! She hated what I’d done, found it very difficult to forgive me. She grieves for you.”

 

“She hardly knew me,” Jesse marvelled.

 

“It doesn’t – didn’t take long for people to love you.”

 

There was a silence, awkward between two men who cared and weren’t sure how to show it without making themselves vulnerable.

 

“Can I give you a hug?” Peter asked. “I always wanted to, you know – when you got out of prison, when we got those bastards who were putting children out of their homes. But you were under my authority.

.............“I did what I did, I told you at the time, but you might not remember, because I thought you’d be less likely to do something illegal if Mozzie wasn’t there to egg you on. I never wanted you in prison again. Truly, that’s all I was trying to do.”

 

Jesse looked at him, head slightly on one side. “And now?”

 

“And now what?”

 

“Do you feel the need to find out how we’re financed? What we’re doing?”

 

Peter thought a moment, wanting to be honest. He looked up, surprised. “No. I know you don’t hurt people. I couldn’t care less, except that you’re all happy and safe. We’ve all paid too much for that not to be true.”

 

Jesse smiled, and each time he did it seemed that he looked more like Neal.

 

“And does June know? June should know, N- Jesse. She loves you.”

 

“She knows. She knew when Mozzie and…when you met my daughter. I was still out of it, but June knew I survived. I’ve seen her since. What a lovely lady.”

 

“Yes. One of the high-class people of the Earth. Did you ever see that picture?”

 

Jesse smiled. “He’s good, isn’t he?”

 

“Brilliant. I thought it was yours.”

 

“That particular precision has never been my forte. That exact use of powerful light and colour, those tiny, delicate brush strokes. He’s a perfectionist.”

 

“When I heard that you – as I supposed – had been killed, and that there was no chance that it wasn’t you – _**hah!**_ – was the first time I knew how it felt, to want something enough to steal it.”

 

Jesse raised his eyebrows.

 

“The painting. If I was completely sure that June wouldn’t shoot me if I broke in, I might have gone after that, it captured your essence so completely.”

 

Jesse grinned. “I shall tell Moz. Not a Matisse, nor a Goya, not even a Rembrandt…”

 

“I am no art expert! I just like what I like.”

 

“You want to see her?”

 

“Would you let me?”

 

“If …her mother says it’s all right.”

 

“It isn’t quite as – imperative. Now I know she’s not the last bit of you surviving. I would like to.”

 

Jesse stood, more stiffly than Peter remembered, and went out. He heard – or imagined that he heard – some muffled voices, and then Jesse came in with the tall dark woman and a child, much older now, of course. They came forward together, and Jesse said to the little girl,

         “Don’t be frightened. He won’t hurt you. This is Peter.”

 

“Hallo, Peter,” the child said, quietly and confidently, holding Jesse's hand. She studied his face and suddenly smiled.

 

“Hallo.” Peter found himself grinning inanely. The girl was so pretty! Those same sparkling blue eyes, that same infectious smile. The face was softer, the eyes bigger, there was something of her mother’s cheekbones and jawline, but the mixture of these two people, both so attractive, had blended perfectly.

 

Peter didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t ask any questions about her. Not even her name! “Are you happy, Sweetheart?” he asked.

 

She laughed. Neal had hardly ever laughed, Peter remembered. She nodded. “Yes. I am very happy.”

 

“That’s all that matters,” Peter told her. “That and not hurting anyone.”

 

The woman, Neal’s – Jesse’s wife – looked at Jesse and then at Peter. She said, and her voice didn’t have that harshness, “Don’t be an idiot any more, because stupidity is sometimes far more dangerous than evil.”

 

“I understand. Thank you for letting me see her again. She is truly lovely.”

 

“Come, poppet, let’s go find Moz,” the woman said.

 

“I’m still here if you need me,” Peter told her. “Think of me as the white sheep of the family, not usually thought of, often disdained, but sometimes useful?”

 

She turned and smiled a little. “Be careful. A white sheep in a pack of wolves…?”

 

She and the child went out. Peter stood, and went over to Jesse, who didn’t pull away. Peter put his arms gently around the shorter man and pulled him into an embrace. He whispered, “Thank you, Neal, for letting me know, for letting me see you again. I didn’t deserve it.”

 

There was a moment, and then Jesse leaned into him. “If you hadn’t brought the ‘contraband’, you’d never have known. Thank your honest nature.”

 

They were both whispering, though Peter knew without a doubt that no listening devices would be in _this_ room!

 

“What do you call her? I know she doesn’t have a legal birth certificate, I know it may change…”

 

“Apparently, when I was out of it, there was quite a lot of discussion. Mozzie wanted Verity…”

 

“ _Truth?_ For the child of two conmen – con-people?”

 

“Because ‘the truth shall make you free’,” Neal grinned. “But my wife felt the name was too hard for her soft little bundle. So they ended up calling her Elsa.”

 

“Elsa?”

 

“Not El, not after El. After the lion cub. In the book – and film - ‘Born Free’…no birth certificate!”

 

They could feel the chuckles in each other’s bodies. Peter didn’t want to let go, but it would just get weird. He gently stood back and said, “I should go. Could you somehow let me know, every now and then, that all of you are all right?”

 

“Yes, we’ll do that. This is ours – owned by an off-shore company – but ours, in effect. Why don’t you bring El here on holiday in the autumn? The weather is best then…you could stay in Toulouse for a while, walk about – it’s a nice city for walking.”

 

“I suppose you won’t be here?”

 

Jesse smiled. “Unlikely. We’ll leave the keys with the front desk of the hotel you’re staying in, in your name, when you’ve booked your ticket.”

 

Peter didn’t bother to ask how they’d know if he’d booked tickets. He’d just give himself a headache.

 

“This,” Jesse said, giving him a large Manila envelope, “is a little gift for getting me out of prison and coming here today. A bank account, all the details and instructions are there. You and El have signatory rights. Not a lot of money – about $25,000. But it’ll grow, and be enough for the odd holiday.”

 

“But you need passports, ID, how did you get our – never mind, don’t tell me, don’t tell me! And that’s quite a lot of money! Why would you - ?”

 

“Peter, Peter – it’s _never_ about the money! And if you’d turned out not to have changed, just to have come to salve your own guilty Catholic conscience, we wouldn’t have given it to you! Bring El on holiday. I think I gave her a lot of trouble and heartache.”

 

“You and me both, kid! God, will I ever see you again?”

 

“You just never know with us, do you, Agent Burke?” The blue eyes twinkled above the broad, white, cheeky grin.

 

 

 

 

 

 The End...really?

 

This chapter for all those who hold onto their dreams...hafta believe we are magic! Too soppy?

Apologies to any of you who actually live in or have visited Toulouse or Andorra - and no, that's not where the blue-skinned aliens come from, though from the weather they may be blueish at times! All I had was google, will make corrections if you let me know!

 

Danny Boy attributed to Frederick Weatherly.

 


	4. Epilogues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short bit about two law-abiding people and three (and a third?) happy criminals talking about new directions.

 

 

 

El watched, intrigued. Her husband was very tired, but excited…a not uncommon state for an FBI agent, but this was different.

 

“Can’t it wait till morning?” she asked. “You’ve just had that long flight and then getting through security…you hardly ate, Hon!”

 

“I’d really like a real American beer!” he told her. “And airport security is nothing to worry about if you’re an honest American.”

 

El sighed and went and got him a beer. Peter could be the most stubborn person she ever knew! It was not his most endearing quality! She quickly cut some cheese cubes, opened a can of olives and laid out various cold meats and crackers. She threw a cube of cheddar to Satchmo and told him if he was good, she’d give him any meat that was left.

 

By the time she came back, Peter had uncharacteristically closed all the curtains. She stared at him.

“What’s up, Peter?”

 

“Sit down! I have something to tell you!”

 

Soon, El was so engrossed in Peter’s story that she wasn’t interested in the fact that Satchmo had helped himself to the cheese-plastic-bag out of the garbage and was eating it, noisily, in the kitchen.

 

“He gave you a wrapped parcel to smuggle for him?” she gasped.

 

“Yeah. But I know Mozzie a little by now – I knew it wasn’t anything much, just a ruse!”

 

“But I don’t understand! Why would he give you something – you mean it wasn’t valuable or illegal?”

 

“No. I wasn’t sure what it was, but after being an agent all this time I was pretty sure it wasn’t anything to be worried about. I can read people quite well, you know? He thinks he’s smart, but for someone in the Bureau as long as I have been…Comes with experience. Let me tell you…”

 

“So you didn’t hide it?”

 

“I kept it on me,” Peter said, taking some cheese and swigging his beer. There are some things, no matter how honest you want to keep your relationship, that you don’t want to tell your wife!

 

“I got into France, went into Andorra. Easy as pie. And eventually, after a lot of cloak-and-dagger stuff, Mozzie got me in a room and guess who came in?”

 

Elizabeth shook her head.

 

“A man…Hon, it was – shh, now! – it was Neal!”

 

“Neal?” El whispered so softly Peter could hardly hear it.

 

“He’s calling himself something else, now. And he looked like hell. Seriously. Much older, not well. Scar on his cheek.”

 

“But Neal’s…dead,” she whispered, staring at her husband as if he had finally gone out of his mind.

 

“No. He and Mozzie and the little girl’s mother somehow broke him out, left someone else – a dead someone, they didn’t kill anyone – there, and smuggled him into Canada and he’s been in treatment ever since.

            “We talked, El! We hugged! He was so pleased to see me – and I was so pleased to see him! He even let me see his little girl again – she’s grown so much, and she’s so beautiful!”

 

“You’re serious?”

 

“Very!”

 

“Why did they get you there? I wouldn’t have thought that any of them had good memories, good intentions.”

 

“Well, you’re wrong. They did give me that little test, the ‘important package to bring at great risk’ – and Moz admitted it was a cough-lozenge! Neal was so pleased that I’d kept my promise and brought it for them. He needed to see me, on his doctors’ recommendations!

...............“Oh – and he’s married to the pretty brunette.”

 

“Pretty?”

 

“Quite… nice brown eyes. When she doesn’t look as though she’s wanting to kill me!”

 

 “So Neal is married with a child. And Mozzie’s looking after them?”

 

“Guardian angel, he called himself!”

 

“But when we last saw Neal, he was very – sick.”

 

“Yeah. Mozzie got him in intensive therapy. That’s the reason they needed me there. He needed to see me. I think he realised I did a lot for him, El, even though I misread him later on. I got him out of prison, he said he was grateful. He more than said it – he proved it. They left some money there for us, said I should take you on holiday in the fall, that you’d love Toulouse and Andorra, and you will, El. We’ve got leave coming – we can stay in their house. It looks like a postcard!”

 

“There’s no resentment?”

 

“They opened a bank account for us and put **_twenty-five thousand dollars_ ** in it for us to have holidays with. I’ve got all the instructions and so on. Isn’t that wonderful?”

 

“B-but even I know that to do that - ”

 

“Yeah, yeah, showing off – ‘look what we can do’? I was so pleased to see Neal alive and well! Well, not well, he’s thin and sick, and he can’t remember a whole lot of stuff – but he’s alive!”

 

“I can imagine!” El watched him closely. “You feeling better?”

 

“Oh, Hon, a million times better! I thought I’d killed him, and it was just some other guy, some John Doe…no, no, he died of a car-accident. But it wasn’t Neal!”

 

“What a weight off your shoulders! I know how awful you were feeling, Hon!”

 

“I feel like it’s spring and the cherry blossoms are out and I’m falling in love with you – that kind of happy! To know they appreciate what I did and at least what I tried to do to the tune of twenty-five thousand dollars! That is so generous! Neal pretended it was because I kept my word and brought them a cough-drop!”

 

She sat closer and squeezed his hand. “I know you didn’t mean all that to happen, Hon. Now you say they all realise it, too?”

 

“Yeah. I need to be careful about thinking I know people too much. Obviously, from Neal’s words, his life had been traumatic before. I did something that might have worked, but for him it was like the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

 

“So they’re not running cons and frauds and forgeries?”

 

“I don’t think they’re up to it. Neal certainly isn’t, and won’t be for a while! Moz probably has some funds, perhaps Neal’s wife has, too. And his treatment must have cost them a great deal. And then they have a child to raise, she must be school-going age.

            “I think, though it wasn’t the way I expected it to all work out, they’ll be forced to live quietly, stay put while that pretty little thing goes through school. They won’t want to jeopardise her future, so the wife and perhaps Moz, and maybe Neal when he’s better, will get jobs and get settled somewhere. And by the time she’s out of school, they will have matured, become established in a community, be too old for criminal activities. People re-offend less and less as they age, El. I think, in a roundabout and horrible way, I did it. I forced Neal to go straight!

"I feel as though I can finally move on, El!”

 

El looked at him. Some of his story didn’t seem to make sense to her, but he was very tired. “I’ll get you another beer, Hon,” she said, deciding to try and get the whole story in the morning.

 

She came through with his beer. “Do you think he’ll ever let me see him? And his daughter?”

 

But her husband was fast asleep on the couch.

 

She and Satchmo finished the snacks and beer to the accompaniment of his snores.

 

Mozzie, on the other side of the world, watched the recording the next morning, and laughed.

 

 

 

It was a few hours later that Mozzie came through to where Jesse was playing cards with his daughter and Alex, now going by the name of Louella, was working with two map pins, stretching out flesh-coloured  
duct tape and carefully pinning it flat to a piece of foam board.  
  
"Got it?" Jesse asked, without looking up, concentrating on winning the game.  
  
"It dissolved in the exact mixture they said would work," Mozzie told him, holding a tiny  
thing out on the palm of his gloved hand. "It is amazing! I am usually a pessimist about the  
science and instructions of others, and that's good. After all, 'The nice part about being a  
pessimist is that you are constantly being either proven right or pleasantly surprised' as  
George Will says, and I am usually proven right. Today is a very pleasant surprise!

......."And it really did look like a Fisherman's Friend! Excellent work! Even the smell was right!  
Now we just need the rest of the instructions….Lou?"

  
  
"It'll be ready when it's ready, Mozster!" Lou said, pushing a curl of hair behind her ear. "The  
solution is made up, but you really did a number on this tape."

  
  
"Is that an ice-cream truck, Jesse?" Elsa said, her blue eyes sparkling.

  
  
"Why, I think you might be right, child! And you were losing, by the way!" her father told  
her, in the spirit of tough love. "So don't think you're distracting me from that fact!"

  
"You had an unfair advantage. My blood sugar was low," his daughter said, her nose in the  
air.

  
"Beloved but precocious brat! Moz?"

  
  
"Here. Bring us all something - small cones, with cherries and angelica on. And one for  
yourself, little cub!"

  
She ran out of the door and Moz went to the window to watch her.

  
  
"There it is!" Lou said. "It's finally unravelled and flat! Spray it, Jesse!"

  
  
Jesse complied and words started to form on the adhesive side of the tape.

  
  
"It'll take a while. Then we can hand off the chip the FBI so kindly gave us," Moz said, still at  
the window.

  
  
"Does this mean we're done?" Jesse asked, sitting back in his chair. "How much more do we  
need?"

  
  
"It's _never_ about the _money!_ "  Lou reminded him and they all laughed.

  
  
"The sub treasure is split up in four different locations, it's as safe as we can possibly make  
it." Mozzie said. "By the way, great acting, Jesse. Burke bought that you were still in  
recovery."

  
"Yeah. I am now under no obligation _not_ to lie to him! Not that seeing him didn't help, Moz.  
Put all the pieces back together, you know -  so it wasn't a complete lie…just an exaggeration.  
            "And if anyone looks into it, getting the music box from the Italian  
Consulate was a three man job, probably four for most teams - you two just couldn't have  
pulled it off safely. He knows we don't use outsiders. Never want him wondering, though! Let  
him think I was still safely wearing one of those funny white jackets with the very long  
sleeves."

  
  
"Which any one of us can get out of," Lou noted.

  
  
"True," Jesse nodded. "But I actually wouldn't have _wanted_ to at the time…scary."

  
  
"Don't like dislocating my shoulder, unless it's absolutely necessary," Mozzie noted. "You did  
us all a great favour by spiralling down into the dark place, Jesse. Split up that Great White  
Collar Team. _That_ team might have found us, at least made things too exciting!"

  
  
"It wasn't actually my intention, Moz. And it wasn't fun! It was _very_ scary. Without your help,  
and all the expert help you got for me, I doubt I would be sitting here today!"

  
  
"But all things work together for good!"

  
  
Slight, momentary frown. "Not sure you should be quoting that!"

  
  
"It fits! What did Dr. Who say? - 'What's the use of a good quotation if you can't change it?' -  
or change the context! " Mozzie grinned, and went out, since Elsa looked about to drop all  
their ice-cream cones!

 

"You'll need to remember to put on the fake scar if you ever see them again," Lou pointed out, without much interest.

 

"If I forget, I'll just say that Mozzie told me to put lots of Vitamin E cream and aloe vera on it and it vanished," Jesse smiled. "Where did Moz get the money to build the catamaran-thing, Lou? Any idea? I never asked."

  
  
"I don't think he went looking for investors! He did a whole lot of jobs without you, Jesse,  
when Neal was on Peter's leash and before and after!

........"Brilliant plan though…I thought we'd have to get the stupid thing to the land, warehouse it  
or something. He pointed out that would be practically impossible, satellites and coast-guards  
breathing down our necks, the whole bit!  
........."His plan worked, didn't it? Stayed in international waters, moseying up near the coast, slow  
as molasses, in a boat registered in the Turks and Caicos, float the thing up between the hulls,  
keep the whole U-boat - the parts near or above the surface - under wraps, literally, while we off-loaded it, let the U-boat sink again. Simple.  
..........."And it wasn't madly expensive - it wasn't much of a boat: big hulls covered with a frame big  
enough to envelop the conning tower with a believable-looking canvas-boat cover, and the  
hulls had to straddle the width of the thing…that's all. No fancy interior, no  
woodwork…nothing, really. Work orders to get it finished in New Brunswick, if anyone  
asked. It was a good fake, if quite large! Only good in fine weather, though!"

  
  
"One of the most exciting moments of my life, seeing all the goodies still in that sub! I was  
thinking it would be like most Ancient Egyptian tombs, already robbed?"

  
"I was looking for the music box before you even got into the business! It was my raison  
d'être! Think how ** _I_ ** felt! But I wish I could put your wicked grin when you saw it all on a Christmas card, only I never send any. It was _inspiring!_  

.......... "'Course, my dad was pointing out from Coney Island, but not  
exactly in the right direction! I'd be still looking if it weren't for you two. I'd have never  
understood the fractal…without Mozzie, I'd have just had the music box and a bunch of  
people after me! Without you, I'd have never been able to get the music box!"

  
  
"We always were a good team."

  
  
"Hmm…I think the problem we had early on was there was too much sexual tension, lover!  
You were still sheep-eyed over Kate….  
............."Poor Kate."

  
"Yeah." Jesse looked down. "She wasn't right for me, I never knew her. Just a foolish boy-girl  
thing. But she didn't deserve that, and I'm glad Moz made sure that justice was done. He's a  
remarkable friend…and I sure wouldn't want him as an enemy!"

  
"He wants to find the original owners of the art-work…you know? Why?"

  
  
"I'm okay with that - or their families, decedents. Not stuff from museums, of course. It'd be  
fun to mysteriously replace their heirlooms, don't you think?  
..........."I know most of them have been stolen over and over - but those we can be sure actually  
belonged to nice, ordinary families? Even rich ones? They walk in one morning and suddenly,  
where the photo of Great-Aunt-Freda-in-That-Awful-Hat hung, there's their Chagall, a family  
legend told in whispers, seen only in faded photographs…!"

  
  
"You know, that level of romanticism would normally make me unambiguously nauseous…on you,  
it's almost cute! It must be that great jawline!"

  
Jesse grinned at her affectionately. "Goop," he said.

  
  
Lou was silent for a time, then said, "Moz did think the sub would explode…it never has."

  
  
"We should detonate it, or warn somebody. It's extremely dangerous."

  
  
"Yeah, suppose. We got rid of the beacon, so no-one'll be following that."  She sounded  
distinctly disinterested.

  
  
Jesse looked at her and smiled. His wife never had been too worried about the rest of  
humanity! But then, the rest of humanity had never gone out of its way to help Louella!

  
  
"So this specialised computer chip-thingy, just gravy?"

  
  
"Just chocolate sauce on the Sundae!"

  
  
"12 mill. is a lot of chocolate sauce! It's kind of nice to have the buyer already in place, even  
though we have a very good fence in the family!"

  
  
She grinned at him. "Yes, it is, especially for something this specialised. Tricky market. And  
we know the set-up, no-one's going to be double-crossing anyone.  
............."But how did you know you could trust Burke? I thought that was the risky part of the plan.  
How did you know he wouldn't, at best, unwrap the tape and see the 'Fisherman's Friend' and  
chuck it, mad at being conned by Mozzie?"

  
  
"Wouldn't much have mattered. We had his place bugged, he would definitely do that at  
home, in case it was something obviously illegal. So we could go and get it out of the trash!  
Worse if he tried to suck it, since it was plastic. Then he'd get suspicious! But it was all  
yuecky from the adhesive! Small risk.  
............."And if Burke says he'll do something, he'll do it if he can. He's got this twisted honour-thing.  
Hmm - I shall have to check that Moz has de-activated those bugs! He is sometimes a  
little…"

  
"Let him have his fun while Sally's with her folks!  
............."And Burke could have thrown it down the toilet, Trusting-Jesse! Yeah - he's twisted all right,  
with you -  totally abusive, I think. Take a live butterfly and pin it to a board!"

  
  
"A compliment..? Hmmm…? Anyway, be glad. The guilt was most of the reason he helped -  
unknowingly helped, in the end! And he _was_ sorry, Lou."

  
"We nearly lost you because of him. I'm glad you're not such an idealist that you minded  
putting him in some danger, after that."

 

"He's fun to fool, that's for sure!"    Jesse started making notes. He smiled to himself. He hadn't thought there was that much  between Alex and himself by the time he made himself say a last farewell…which to his surprise turned into a long and delicious, intimate good-bye that gave them Elsa…but he was  
very glad she was around, now. She was smart and strong and good to have on his side! At  
his side. And a surprisingly gentle and devoted mother! Who would have guessed it?

  
Perhaps Mozzie was right…things did work together for good. She would probably never say  
that she'd fallen for him all those years ago, when he'd taken her down for Adler but then, she  
didn't like making herself too vulnerable, Lou. Weakness just got you killed, in her world. But  
maybe, in time….She showed him how much she cared every day, now…and not just for  
Elsa's sake.

  
"Oh, the writing's all clear now!" Lou took out her camera and carefully recorded the  
instructions before they faded once again, checked that she had a clear image. "Nice. We may never need them again, but these are clever people to work with! Well, we've got ways to contact them!"

  
  
"Lou?" Jesse said, as she joined him at the window, watching Elsa and Mozzie try and get a  
cheeky squirrel to taste her ice-cream.

  
  
"Yeah, Caffrey?" Lou chuckled, going back to clearing up her work-space.

  
  
Jesse gave her a reproving look.

  
  
"Okay, okay - Jesse, dear! - what?"

  
  
"Everything is good now, isn't it? Between us, and Moz and everything?"

  
  
"Yeah, so?"

  
  
"We-ell, it's not that I've grown up or anything awful, lost my nerve or gotten cold feet…but  
these last few years have been hectic. Would you mind terribly if we took a nice long  
holiday?"

  
  
"Aah - from _crime_ you mean?"

  
  
Jesse made a face. "Yeah. Would it actually hurt you?"

  
  
"No, I'm teasing you! I think it would be great to take some time, re-invent ourselves, go and  
see June often, or fly her out to see us. Get you completely fit! Teach Elsa and take her  
places…safaris and heli-skiing and volcanoes and all the great museums and art-galleries…"

  
  
"And that would be us casing the joints?"

  
  
Lou came over and wrapped herself around him in a way no other lover ever had. "Of _course_  
not, Jesse-love. Just great educational value for our bright daughter! Of course, if we happen  
to _notice_ any flaws in their systems…"

  
Jesse's breath was catching and he wasn't quite sure what point he had been so intent on  
making… "Lou! Stop that!"

  
  
"What, _this?_ … or… _this?"_

  
  
 "Mmm…mmm," Jesse groaned. "Oh, God! Where are Mozzie and our innocent child?"

  
  
"They're giving up on the squirrel and making their way here."

  
  
"Damn the bloody uncooperative rodent!" Jesse cursed, turning to kiss her full on the mouth,  
holding her and trying to push her away all at once. "God, you're beautiful and sexy and  
delicious and tempting -  
..............." - hallo, little girl! Are the ice-creams all melting?"  
 He whispered to Lou, "'Cause I need something cold right about now!"

  
  
"I'll get bowls, everything's melting!" Lou said, grinning wickedly at Jesse.

  
  
Moz looked at Jesse as Elsa and Louella went off together. Jesse was studiously looking at  
his notes, adding a comma here, a hyphen there. Mozzie raised an eyebrow. "One is enough at  
present, mon frère, don't you think?"

  
  
"Mozzie!"

  
  
"One of the great skills needed in our profession is an observant eye, and it doesn't take one to  
see that- "

  
  
 _"Mozzie!_   I was just trying to…convince my wife that it would be nice to have some down  
time."

  
  
"That's a quaint way of putting it, considering - "

  
  
"If you don't stop…! - Don't _you_ think it would be nice to enjoy our cleverly-gotten-gains for  
a few years? Whilst Elsa grows up a little?"

  
"You mean, no go-bags and safe-houses and - ?"

  
  
"No, _what?"_ Jesse demanded, his voice rising an uncomfortable seventh. "After we've taught  
Elsa all the vocabulary? _No!_ Never know when a smooth, silent getaway may be needed! You  
think I want us to give back all the loot and get jobs and never see the baby girl? Put her in a  
school and let her be indoctrinated? Did Burke slip you something toxic?  
............."No, Moz, just some time for us, as a family."

  
  
"We-ell, we haven't ever tried it before!" Mozzie acknowledged. "It might be nice…on the understanding that if it gets boring…"

  
  
Jesse sighed in relief. "Somehow, my friend, I don't think life with you, and Lou, and a  
growing, brilliant, active little darling like our daughter is going to get too boring, even after  
we've returned those pieces of the treasure that do have legitimate homes! I want photo's of  
their faces when they see them, by the way, if at all possible!"

  
  
"And we can catch up on all the new technologies and buy lots of lovely equipment so we can  
forge stuff properly! I want a newer grenz ray machine, multi-spectral IRR, UV florescence  
photography, the best of the best 3-D printer for copying fingerprints… _oh_ , yeah!" Mozzie's  
voice became positively lustful.  "You're a great forger, a great artist, but we need  
technological back-up to stay ahead of authenticators, now!"

  
  
Jesse smiled indulgently at his friend. "You may have the whole basement as your particular  
Dungeon of Scientific Advancements, Dr. Tesla! But remember, art has life and beauty as  
well as science and Tolkien said, 'He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path  
of wisdom'."

  
  
 Mozzie smiled back. "Authenticators have never been wise. Beauty is beauty, whoever held  
the brush, palette knife, whatever! You can take some time and do your own work, Jesse, find  
your own style.  
............."I'll let the couple in Dordogne know that we're going to need the country house next month,  
should I? And to make sure the wine-cellar is well-stocked? Unless you'd like a yacht?"

  
  
"Thank you, Mozzie. France would be lovely. And you need to let Sally know."

  
  
"Oh, and she'd like more computer power, in return for doing the digital part of the searching  
for the original owners…I said it would be fine. And you'll convince Louella?"

  
  
"Well," Jesse said, looking coy, "I'll do my best. And perhaps you're wrong…perhaps Elsa  
might like a little brother or sister."

 

"And with a well-trained team that size, all trusting each other, all our skills - think what projects we can pull off!"

 

 

 

 

The End.

Greedy author...you know!

 


	5. Running Away to Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter receives another anonymous, typewritten envelope, with another request he never thought he'd hear! This could be worse than the last time...!

 

 

 

 

It was Friday. It actually looked as though they were going to get away without a last minute crisis!

 

Of course, being Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the White Collar Division (again) meant that he usually should be able to leave all the running through the streets and ploughing through paperwork to the younger (VERY much younger) agents down there, but he never was one to do that.

 

He hadn’t stayed at White Collar. He’d done a stint recently in Cybercrimes, before that Vice. He’d been badly injured there, trying to save two younger agents (which he had) and getting himself all shot to pieces in the process, which had led to a long period of physiotherapy. He’d received an honorary medal, which meant less to him than to El, but on the strength of it he negotiated a road-map back to White Collar, which was a much better fit for him, mentally and emotionally.

 

He could have retired, of course, with full benefits, but when he mentioned that to El she looked…horrified! And he had laughed! He couldn’t imagine what else he would do.

 

Wandering around the FBI a little and then returning had meant that, unlike the old days, this wasn’t his second family any more. They were mostly much younger, and nice enough, but their culture was different. He stayed in tenuous touch with Jones and even less with Diana, and his world seemed small, now. He wished he could change things, but hadn’t a clue how to go about it.

 

El was in a different position: she had gone from one great job to another. She was very well-thought of, had the kind of business Rolodex (digital, now, of course!) that made younger people in the world she frequented drool with envy. She could have walked out of her job and into any four other higher-paid ones any day of the week.

 

Peter had never ‘attained’ a post in the DC branch, and though he felt a vague sense of unfulfilment at times, he knew he had done a great deal of good, got a lot of bad people off the streets and stopped crimes of various sorts before they happened.

 

It should have been enough. Now and then he wondered what he would do with his life when he was eventually forced to retire. Hughes had managed to return and stay long past retirement age…would he want that? He couldn’t imagine taking up a hobby that would fill his days. Fishing was nice now and then, but his fishing buddies had all passed on or moved away or just given up on it, and it wasn’t as much fun as a solitary pastime. And El hated it.

 

It was very unhealthy to have El as his only good – hey, be honest, Peter! – his only friend.

 

He had been friends, had trusted other agents when he was younger, but after Kramer, Collins, Ruiz, Rice and Fowler…and more …he just didn’t know who to trust, anymore. And quite a few agents knew of his…let’s call it chequered…past, and steered clear of this agent about whom rumours had circulated for a decade and still resurfaced whenever he solved a particularly big case, or did anything a little unusual.

 

 _We could move to the country,_ he thought, tidying his desk. _I’d like that. Perhaps have a horse or two. Another dog. Vegetables, an orchard._

 

But El was quite a bit younger, and not nearly ready to retire! He’d just have to dig in his heels and try and stick to White Collar till El was ready to start a different phase of her life.

Reece Hughes had done it. But Hughes’ record had been spotless…not as interesting as Peter’s, where the lows had been Death Valley low. The highs _had_ been meteoric! – but he didn’t have the friends Hughes had.

 

_I’ll try my best to stay!_

He was shrugging on his coat when a probie came in from another division, looking for him.

_Uh-oh! Not a case at this time on a Friday…poor El!_

 

“Agent Burke, Sir – this parcel was delivered to our Division by mistake. It only got here today.”

 

“Thank you,” Peter said and glanced at the white address label. It was typewritten. On a typewriter!

 

_Oh, **no!**_

****

Peter literally groaned.

 

 

 

When Peter got home, El was on the phone to her folks, so he waved and took his package down to the basement. He carefully slit the envelope and shook out a cell phone and a short, typewritten note onto the table. He pulled on gloves.

 

He had his favourite old finger-print set: No prints. Not on the note, the phone, the inside of the envelope. Lots of smudges on the outside. He didn’t need to read the note to know who sent this! He could just imagine Mozzie travelling around the world committing undetected sophisticated crimes with his Remington or Underwood in its neat leather case under one arm!

 

The note read,

 

Will phone around 9.30 p.m.

 

 

It was only 7.00. He went up and had dinner with El, and she told him all about how her folks were doing and a lovely new client with boat-loads of money who seemed to particularly like her. Peter was trying hard not to show his unease. The last time the Con Family (as he called them to himself) had called, it hadn’t been all fun!

         On the other hand, he and El had enjoyed two holidays on the Continent, and it had cost them very little. So there had been some benefits!

 

At 9.20 he told El he had left some things in the car, which was true, and jogged off with Dizzy, their middle-aged black lab. Dizzy was a little puzzled when they got to and then got into the car, but soon settled down on the back seat. So long as they weren’t going anywhere, they were not going to the vet or the dog bathing place, so that was just fine with him!

 

At 9.30, the phone rang. Peter had been holding it so tightly that he nearly dropped it.

 

“Hallo, Burke speaking.”

 

“Hey, Peter,” Neal’s voice said, and Peter grinned.

 

“Hey, Neal.”

 

“Well – not – oh, never mind! How’s things?”

 

“You mean you don’t know?”

 

“We’ve been a little busy…too busy to keep the Burke household under round-the-clock surveillance, sorry to burst your ego-bubble!”

 

“We have a new dog. El’s a Force to be Reckoned With, I’m back at White Collar, as ASAC, there’s no-one in my team as interesting as anyone in my team used to be, including – well, especially – my CI.”

 

“Spoilt you forever.”

 

“There you go.”

 

“So you miss me?”

 

“Let’s not get carried away!”

 

The smiles were obvious in both their voices. Peter went on, “Nothing wrong on your end, is there? Why this call?”

 

“Well, couple of things. Um – June passed away. Pneumonia. We saw her about a month ago and she seemed fine, it all happened very quickly.”

 

“Neal – I’m so sorry. She was so kind to you. I know you loved her.”

 

“Yeah. I’m going to miss her. She was like a foundation, you know, always there for me to lean on. Even just in my head, when I was lonely or confused.”

 

Peter swallowed. He sort of wished that he’d been that, for Neal. Poor choices, Burke.

 

“And our little darling, you remember?” Neal’s voice was verging on sarcastic.

 

‘Yes.” Peter didn’t say her name. Probably wasn’t current!

 

“She wants to run away and join the circus.”

 

_“What?”_

 

Neal laughed. “Well, she’s had an interesting life. Home-schooled. Well, when we were at home. She’s lived in many countries, learned many things.”

 

“Ah. Can I assume some not-so-legitimate things?”

 

“Some of them, yeah. Trade secrets.”

 

Peter imagined Neal grinning, holding his phone to his ear. Then he realised he was thinking of Neal in his designer rat-pack clothing of his New York days, right up to the slightly tilted hat. A slick, suave silhouette against a large picture window lit from behind by the lights of the city. Probably wasn’t wearing that. Probably wasn’t night, even.

In his mind he changed Neal into a Hawaiian print, shorts and sandals, into a safari-suit and pith helmet, into a sarong, bare feet…yeah, stop that, Burke!

 

“So she wants to try the high-wire?”

 

“Okay – look, an accountant’s daughter wants to run away and join the circus. This is kind of the opposite, if you understand my meaning.”

 

“Your daughter – the three of you’s daughter – wants to go straight?” Peter threw back his head and laughed. A lot.

 

“If you’re done wasting my minutes, Burke - !” Neal broke in.

 

“Yeah, sorry, sorry – you must be – disappointed?” Peter tried, still grinning broadly.

 

Neal sounded genuinely puzzled with Peter’s reaction. “No. It’s right. The circle of life. Just because we like our ice-cream home-made raisin-and-rum, cherries and a waffle cone doesn’t mean she can’t like hers commercial vanilla in a plastic cup with a little wooden spoon, does it?”

 

“M- your friend I knew must be devastated.”

 

“Little disappointed she’s wanting to try Dull and Boring, but also glad she’s not easy to convince – of _anything!”_ Neal was grinning, obviously he loved his head-strong little girl like crazy.

 

“So - ?”

 

“Well, to be absolutely honest- ” Neal started and Peter burst in,

         “ ** _What_** was that now? And who the hell **_is_** this?”

 

“Snark all you like! I’m trying to ask you a favour. Not easy for me. Say no if you can’t or don’t want to.”

 

“No cough drops across international date lines, no, no way, nada, never, sorry, **_not_** going to happen!”

 

It was Neal’s turn to burst out laughing. Then he said, in a rush, “Do you want to baby-sit my daughter for a while?”

 

There was a sudden complete silence in the car, during which Peter could easily hear Dizzy snoring, which he did rather well.

 

“Peter?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Still with me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Is that a no?”

 

“It’s an Are you out of your mind?”

 

“Don’t know why you’d think so. I tried going straight with you once, long time ago now. Or you liked to think I did.”

 

“It turned into a complete disaster!”

 

“My lil’ darling is not me, Burke. And I don’t think you’re the same man, either.”

 

“No – no, you’re right.

“You do remember I’m with the FBI, don’t you? You haven’t been at the absinthe or the saki or the ouzo – or wherever-whatever is highly intoxicating?”

 

“Look, Peter, there are just so many straight-laced accountant types I can ask, you know? Just one white sheep baaaing at the edge of our pack!”

 

_The man has a memory like an elephant. Both men!_

“She’d have to be all legal – she’d be in the system, Neal.”

 

“Oh she’d have a valid passport, birth cert, everything she’d need. She’s better at this than I am. She won’t get made.”

 

“ _How_ valid?”

 

“Well, valid enough!”

 

“Mmm.”

 

Neal took a deep quick breath, and the sound reminded Peter of many times he’d done that. “Valid enough so you wouldn’t get into trouble.”

 

“You would trust me with her?”

 

“Perhaps a little more – just a little – than I’d trust her with you!”

 

“Oh?” Peter’s voice changed.

 

“No, no – she’s house trained! Doesn’t steal cars or credit cards of family.”

 

The silence this time was different and Peter swallowed. _Did Neal just say that?_

“I’d have to ask El. It’s a bit of a commitment.”

 

“’Course. You’ll be compensated for time and expenses, of course. We’re – um – good for it. And she can take excellent care of herself, if she has to. We haven’t been delinquent parents.”

 

Peter closed his eyes and wondered exactly how Mozzie or Neal would describe a delinquent parent. Probably someone so lacking in responsibility that they neglected to teach their child the basic arts of breaking and entering, putting together and hiding in diverse, secure locations several different go-bags, the art of disguise and forging new ID papers, should that become necessary…

 

“She’ll have to obey my rules, live as my child!” Peter warned. ‘Does she understand?”

 

“Yeah. No high-speed chases, no nothing shady. You want to ask El and I’ll call you back?”

 

“Yeah, call me back tomorrow. Same time.”

 

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Peter.”

 

“I’m not saying we’ll do it!”

 

“Thanks for considering it. Remember, she’s fourteen-going-on-fifteen-going-on-fifty-two. Not the nicest age! Be warned.”

 

“Trying to put me off?”

 

“No lies, remember?”

 

Peter swallowed. _Damn the man!_ “I remember. I’ll talk it over with El.”

 

“Give her my love and tell her best not to do it!” The phone went dead.

 

Peter sat in the car and listened to the dog snoring peacefully and was aware that his heart rate was up, he was filled with excitement. Just because some ex-con-CI – well, ex-CI, perhaps not ex-con! – had called him!

 

_Damn, I miss those days!_

 

 

Peter told El about the phone call, and her eyes went round and huge. “Coming to stay here? With us?”

 

“Yes. Elsa, or whatever alias she has this month, wants to try out a normal household and, as N- well, whatever he’s calling himself this month, says, they don’t know many normal people they can trust.”

 

“ _Can_ they trust us? After everything? And you’re FBI…that doesn’t give them pause?”

 

“Well, El, let’s be honest! If we had a child who hit their teens and started wanting to try a life of crime, I’d far rather give the Con Family a call and let them look after him than have the child end up on the street making it all up as he went along!”

 

El stared at him for several minutes. “Peter Burke, FBI, you’re saying you’d rather our child was a successful criminal than an unsuccessful one?”

 

Peter sort of squinted. “I think I’d hope that our values we’d instilled would win out, and he’d get tired of the life – and with the guidance of the Cons, he wouldn’t end up with a criminal record. I trust them that they’d play the game with him and not put him in any danger of any sort.”

 

El laughed. “Which is probably exactly what Neal said to his wife when she expressed disbelief in sending Elsa off to live with _us!”_

Peter laughed with her. “You’re right!”

 

“You’re not expecting to reform her, are you?”

 

“After Neal – not much hope, no.”

 

“But you made one mistake with Neal…he could have gone straight. And he was older. There’s perhaps a chance. Then Neal would really hate you!”

 

“No. He’s not like that. He’s puzzled by the life we lead, you know, but he doesn’t want to somehow make us into criminals. He said it was fine if she became an accountant or something normal. Whatever suited her.”

 

“That’s a very mature attitude!”

 

“A very loving attitude.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“Yes, yes, I am never like that, but Neal’s a _criminal,_ Hon!”

 

“Which is why I can’t help but think that you’d lock your little darling in the basement before sending her off with your blessings to spend a summer with, as you call them, the Con Family!”

 

Peter sobered. “I would have, once. I tried to do that with Neal – actually ended up with him in the basement! Broke the man we loved! I would try and dissuade him, but if he was going to try it…well, if he was going to try doing a high-wire act, I’d rather send him to a circus school to learn, rather than have him suspending wires from one high-rise to another and trying on his own.”

 

“I’m sure no daughter of mine would be so stupid,” El twinkled at him.

 

He grinned. “All right – her!”

 

“Are we going to do this mad thing? You won’t be able to lock a tracking anklet on this wild child!”

 

“She can’t be that wild if she wants to try a normal life! And she’s just fourteen, fifteen. I think we should work out some ground rules, though, don’t you? And do you want to do it?”

 

“How long is this for?” El asked, cautiously.

 

“Don’t know. What if she likes being normal and wants to stay with us?”

 

“Hmm. I doubt it…we really are boring compared to Neal and Mozzie…but forever?”

 

“We can always give her back, El, she’s not our responsibility.”

 

“If she’s like Neal…you know, I wouldn’t mind, if she’s a nice kid.”

 

“He loves her like crazy, it’s so obvious, but then – he loved Kate.”

 

“Come on, Peter – you didn’t know Kate! You didn’t like what you thought Kate was trying to do to Neal. Or you didn’t like what you thought Neal was trying to do to get Kate!”

 

“Yeah. And Neal’s wife, whose name I _never_ knew, let alone now, hated me because of what I did do to Neal!”

 

“Hon,” she said, hugging him, “if she’s willing to let her most precious possession come to us for safe-keeping, she must have forgiven you.”

 

Peter thought a moment. “You’re right.” Then, “So I agree to this? Are you sure?”

 

“On one condition,” El told him, her mouth set determinedly.

 

“Oh, no, El – I think we can think up a _thousand_ conditions! I think a thousand or two conditions would be only reasonable!”

 

“I don’t mean that! I mean that if we do this, we get to meet the Con Family. At least Neal and Moz…or whoever they are! For dinner or a picnic or a holiday in Paris, I don’t care! _You’ve_ seen them! It’s not fair!”

 

“I’m not sure they’ll agree, but I can ask!”

 

 

 

The two organised law-abiding people sat and wrote lists of restrictions necessary to try and fence in a child brought up by Mozzie. It felt like trying to rope in smoke! And both were quite sure they were underestimating the problem!

 

“She’ll never agree to these!” El said. “She’ll take one look at the number of trees that went into making these lists and send a complaint to the Sierra Club! She won’t even read them!”

 

“If that’s the case, we’re off the hook!”

 

“I’m not so sure. Neal will think we made it impossible for her to comply. That we’re being difficult.”

 

“He always thought I was doing that to him! Me and the United States Justice System!” Peter smiled.

 

“How are you going to get these to him? He’s got a fax machine or something?”

 

“Hopefully, in a secure location in the Himalayas or down a mine in Peru! This would require a lot of muscle-bound carrier pigeons!”

 

“Microfiche! – Microdot? Mozzie likes Old School!”

 

“They’re probably all set up for that, too…but I’m not! They should have left us one conman here to negotiate – or work the photographic equipment or something!”

 

“One thing at a time! And we’ll have to do the guest room up all pretty! Oh, Peter - ” she clasped her hands “ – we’re going to have a little girl!”

 

Peter looked at his wife, all lit up with excitement and sighed. Perhaps he should take out a second mortgage?

 

 

The next night when the phone rang it was El who answered it. “It’s me! Is that you?”

 

“Indeed,” Neal’s voice came smiling through the ether, “it is I! How are you, Elizabeth?”

 

“I’m so pleased to hear you! And you could have done so ten years ago, you horrid man!”

 

“Mmm…you shouldn’t have married the man with the badge, I’d have been in constant touch! In _so_ many ways!”

 

“Are you flirting with me, N- whoever you are?”

 

“It’s okay, I’m married. We can flirt.”

 

“That’s the rule?”

 

“Harmless. It’s like a dance!”

She didn’t know why he thought that was funny, but she could hear he did. Then he went serious. “You thought about our request?”

 

“We did. We have lots of provisions and stipulations and restrictions, but we’ll do it – on one main condition.”

 

“Oh? And that is – ? - and if Burke wants me to hand myself in, tell him it’ll do him no good – I’m dead. Statute of Limitations is up on all crime when I’m dead! Can’t have dead men in court…think of the health concerns!”

 

Elizabeth laughed. “He didn’t even think of it, N-whoever-you- are! And we also have a problem getting all the hard-copies of rules and regs to you…you may have to think up something clever. There’s a lot of them.”

 

“You’re stalling, which makes me all suspicious, hot-and-bothered and what-not, and thinking that the One Main Condition is so terrible that we will never be able to meet the terms! You might as well just tell me! If you don’t want to do it, Elizabeth, it’s not going to break my heart!”

 

El hesitated. “I want to see you. Preferably you and Mozzie, at least. Peter’s seen you, and it isn’t fair.”

 

“Oh. I see. Sorry, Elizabeth. We didn’t mean to be mean!”

 

There was a soft tapping on the back door, and Neal walked in! Peter just stared, disbelieving.

 

 **“ _Neal!”_** Elizabeth exclaimed in delight, tossed the phone at her husband, ran at him and hugged him breathless. Mozzie, his whole face smiling, followed Neal inside and Elizabeth hugged him while Peter and Neal sized each other up, grinning. Elizabeth said over her shoulder to Neal, “You smell delicious! That isn’t – that isn’t No 1 is it? Clive Christian?”

 

Neal chuckled. “Visible, static art isn’t the only thing that can be forged – or copied for personal use.”

 

Peter wasn’t sure what to say. He went with, “You were outside all this time?”

 

“All what time, Peter! You don’t still think we have you under surveillance, do you?” Neal queried.

 

“Wasn’t that door locked?”

 

Neal glanced back. “ _That_ door?”

 

Peter just grinned and shook his head. Then he said, “You look great!”

 

“Thank you. Don’t look so bad yourself. D’y’enjoy your holidays?”

 

“Yeah. A lot.

“Like the suit, the coat.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“My entire year’s salary?”

 

“Probably more. The government doesn’t pay you very well, as I recall.”

 

Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Mozzie were talking about everything from French wines to the newest fashions, would sling-back shoes make a come-back...

 

“How’d they do that?”

 

“Both talk together? With Mozzie, it’s an ADHD thing, I think. Any one thing – any five things – very boring unless it’s higher mathematics. Elizabeth’s a women. Both great at multi-tasking.”

 

“So why did you come?”

 

“This sort of hand-off has to be done in person, after all.”

 

“You’re not worried about me arresting you for something.”

 

“Me? You ain’t got nothing on me, Burke!” He rocked his shoulders complacently. Peter wanted to hug him.

 

“I heard, you’re dead! Great alibi. And if I get your fingerprints?”

 

“Mmmhmm. Want them, Peter?” Neal smiled that sideways, gentle grin that made Peter’s breath catch.

 

“You’re right…someone changed the databases, didn’t they?”

 

“You might find I have some library books overdue…” the young man mused. “Long overdue, now. Probably written them off. Should make an anonymous donation to the library system.”

 

Peter wondered how he kept looking just the same, but joked, “Oooh. Doesn’t it hurt? I mean, yes, you’re free of all those warrants and posters and BOLO’s, but your whole resume, up in smoke?”

 

“Mozzie will tell you,” – a glance at his friend, still waving his hands animatedly and chattering with El – “that it’s the journey that’s exciting, not the arrival. I am now in the middle of a new journey.”

 

“What happened to the scar?”

 

“Gone now,” Neal fingered his cheek. “Moz told me about Aloe and Vitamin E. Amazing stuff.”

 

Peter said, “Mmmhmm,” in a disbelieving way and then said, more softly, “I’ve missed you.”

 

Neal looked suddenly uncomfortable.

 

“Yes, yes – my fault. But I do.”

 

“Shall I invite…my wife…in?”

 

“She’s standing outside? Of course, invite her in! You’re a brave man – she can look pretty scary!”

 

“Oh, it’s not just looks, trust me!”

 

Neal went to the door, opened it, smiling, and gestured and the brunette came in as silent as a cat, with her daughter in front of her.

 

Elizabeth and Mozzie stopped talking and Elizabeth went and held out her hand to the woman. “Hallo! I’m Elizabeth. I’m so grateful that you came.”

 

Neal’s wife shook El’s hand. “My husband had lovely things to say about you, Elizabeth. You always looked after him. Thank you.”

 

“And this is your daughter? Hallo!” El looked in the girl’s eyes, trying to gauge her soul – but this was the daughter of two con artists, she reminded herself.

 

“Yes, this is Shalomar,” her mother said, and rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask!”

 

“We used to let her choose…!” Neal grinned.

 

“Hi, Shalomar,” Elizabeth said.

 

“What do we call you all?” Peter asked.

 

“I’m Mozzie,” Mozzie said, smugly.

 

“Surely not still…”

 

“More like again at last,” the shorter man said.

 

Neal and his wife were standing right up close. Neal looked down into her eyes as she smiled up at him and he said, “I’m Darby and this is my wife, Isabel. Um – Darby Gentry.”

 

 _Oh, they love each other!_ Peter thought, happily.

 

 

‘Shalomar’ was at that stage where she hovered between pretty girl and devastatingly beautiful woman. She stood looking at Peter with serious blue eyes as though, Peter thought, teetering between indignation and amusement, he was some new exotic exhibit in a glass case at the zoo.

 

“So you’re Peter,” Shalomar said, _just_ as she would have said, “So that’s a platypus.”

 

“That’s Peter Burke,” Neal nodded. “FBI Agent.”

 

Shalomar looked around their home as though studying the ecosystem that sustained the platypus.

 

“You’ve never seen an American home before?” Elizabeth asked, smiling, knowing that Peter was getting a little riled.

 

“Not like this, Elizabeth,” Shalomar said, and El could detect a faint French accent in her voice. “As Darby said, a simple home.”

 

“For simple people, yes,” Peter said. “But we like it.”

 

“Well, of course!” Shalomar agreed quickly, her eyebrows high. “Otherwise you would instantly move!”

 

Isabel turned away and Neal grinned. From her tone, Shalomar would have instantly moved.

 

“Come on, Honeybunch, you wanted to find out about a normal life, remember? This is normal. This is what their income allows them to have, after house maintenance, insurance, saving for retirement and all the other expenses. We talked about this.”

 

“It seems very small to me, Darby,” she said, going over to him. She whispered, “They truly live here all the time?”

 

“They really, truly do. It’s what you wanted, baby.”

 

“Now it is the time for you to stop calling me that, Darby.”

 

“All right, if you insist,” Neal agreed.

 

“Shall I call Sam?” Isabel asked.

 

“Call away, Bella,” Neal said. He turned to Peter, “You have a lovely big tree in your back yard.” Peter didn’t understand the comment.

 

Isabel went to the back door and whistled a bird-song. She waited and within a minute a tousle-headed boy of about eight or nine came to her and she herded him into the door, picking twigs out of his hair and throwing them out of the door.

 

“This is Sam,” Neal said to Peter and Elizabeth.

 

Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide. “You have a son as well as a daughter?”

 

Neal nodded, almost seeming a little shy.

 

“You look like a ruffian!” Mozzie told Sam.

 

“It’s a lovely tree!” Sam ran his fingers through his hair. His colouring was from his mother, but there was a resemblance to Shalomar. “Well, sister dear – what do you think of your clever idea _now?”_ he demanded, mockingly, looking at the room.

 

“If they can live here, so too can I!” Shalomar said, valiantly. “They are both bigger than me, I am petit!”

 

Neal and Isabel rolled their eyes at each other.

 

“Does this have any chance of working?” Peter asked Neal. “I don’t think you’ve prepared your children for life in a home my salary affords.”

 

“We stayed in a storage unit – all of us – for two weeks at one point,” Neal said, “between other places. She’s just acting the little princess and he’s got to the stage where he knows just how to rile her.”

 

“We have some rules and regulations,” Elizabeth said, apologetically, waving to the sheaf of papers on the table.

 

Neal laughed a little. “Neither of you are idiots, I wouldn’t expect anything less…we’ll have to study all the clauses in detail, of course.”

 

“I’m going to show Isabel and the children round the rest of the Very Small House, and you and Neal can work out a few basics, Hon,” Elizabeth said, extremely amused by the interactions.

 

“Sit?” Peter asked. “Should I get a beer or something.”

 

“Thanks, we ate a short while ago,” Neal answered, as he and Mozzie sat on the couch.

 

“Look, Neal – I’m worried about this. I’d love to do you this favour, El wants to do the room up in pink roses or something – probably not your daughter’s taste! - but seriously, I would want to treat her as my own, give her boundaries.”

 

“Oh, they have boundaries!” Mozzie said, horrified. “They’d be wild animals by now if they hadn’t! You think because we pursue unconventional lives with alternative sources of income that we’re insane, _and_ poor parents?”

 

“And we didn’t choose ‘Shalomar’ – we like to let them have some input, but we may have to rethink that! Sam, as a knee-jerk reaction, went with the simplest, shortest name he could think of!” Neal groaned. “And yeah, Peter, they have to finish their homework and any assignments before they can come out with us, when we do…anything …and once - well, now she’s Shalomar, but when she disobeyed and followed us on a job we cancelled her piano lessons for the summer _and_ Mozzie refused to teach her about Pollock’s technique until the autumn!”

 

“She was _furious!”_ Mozzie grinned. “First she sulked and then tried to con us every way we‘d taught her…got nowhere!”

 

“But it was excellent practise and a great deal of fun watching her!” Neal chuckled.

 

Elizabeth and the rest of the Con Family were coming down the stairs. Viewing a Very Small House didn’t take long!

 

“So we need to review these as a family?” Isabel said, practically, collecting the papers.

 

“Yes – those are our only copy, so could you bring them back when we have our next sit-down?” Elizabeth asked.

 

“The bathroom won’t hold even your hair products!” Sam was sniggering at Shalomar. She resorted to looking superior, which apparently proved to Sam that he had won, as his sniggering turned to chuckles.

 

“We’ll let you go back and read and talk it over,” Elizabeth said to Isabel.

 

“Good idea. We’ll phone you tomorrow, Elizabeth. And it is so very good of you to think of doing this for us. I’m sorry – can’t imagine what my daughter and husband think they‘re doing to you!”

 

“Tomorrow – come to dinner, if you’d like! All of you!”

 

Sam waved and said, “Thanks!” and went out quickly – apparently to commune with the tree before leaving. Shalomar and Isabel also went out, and then Mozzie followed. Neal turned and smiled a little at Peter and was about to duck out of the door when Peter, desperate to make him understand their stance on child-rearing, which had nothing to do with Jackson Pollock, said, “Neal! If I catch her stealing, or something, you know – I’ll have to paddle her!”

 

Neal’s eyes widened in absolute horror!

 

 _Here it comes!_   thought Peter.

 

Neal leaned one shoulder right in and hissed, “ ** _Peter!_ ** If you catch her stealing, you can spank her and I’ll spank her a whole lot harder! Catch her indeed!” and left, shooting Peter a condemnatory look that showed how insulted he was at the low opinion Peter had of his daughter.

The door snapped shut.

 

Peter put his hand over his eyes and sighed. Elizabeth giggled intermittently all through coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The End of Chapter 1 of        Running Away to Normal. 

 

Comments...please? I had such fun with this, hope you enjoyed it! And you know greedy authors get grumpy when they're hungry!

 

 

 


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